


Serpent in the Pack

by Morteamore



Series: Kinktober 2019 [8]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: 'Alpha' Fl4k, Alpha Troy, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Dystopian, Fisting, Fl4k and Rhys and Mr. Chew are their own ragtag pack, Kidnapping, Kinktober 2019, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Character Death, Mr. Chew attac but also protec, Mr. Chew slobber, No Refractory Period, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Canon Compliant, Omega Rhys, Omega Verse, Other, Rhys does not have cybernetics, Robot/Human Relationships, Sexual Coercion, Sibling Rivalry, Skag abuse?, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-01-22 14:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21303863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morteamore/pseuds/Morteamore
Summary: On the verge of a heat, omega vault survivor Rhys travels to Goodneighbor with his companions, the AI Fl4k and his packmate Mr. Chew, to track down a chem dealer who can replenish his supply of suppressors. While there, an alpha named Troy Calypso, a prominent dealer working for Goodneighbor's criminal underground and general rabble-rouser, discovers his existence. With omegas as rare as they are in the post-war Commonwealth, he hatches a plan to acquire Rhys before others of his ilk can catch on that there's an omega in their midst.
Relationships: FL4K/Rhys (Borderlands), Troy Calypso/Rhys
Series: Kinktober 2019 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1508447
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	1. Den of Eden

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kinktober prompts: Omegaverse, fisting
> 
> Additional tags might be added as the chapters progress.

It was not a fever that stoked the heat that drew Rhys from the depths of sleep, nor the warmth of the rented room. The Rexford Hotel was moderately warm at best. On the faded, worn bed, he threw the limp blanket off his body and twisted around, eyes springing open, sweat rolling down his forehead to disperse against his cheeks. He breathed in deeply, evenly. Shadows swirled and spun before him, coalescing into blurred forms. Rhys’ mouth was bone dry like the wastes themselves. Somehow he managed to form shaky words with a tongue that felt glued to the bottom of his mouth.

“Fl4k….” 

From a corner of the room rose the sound of shifting materials. The AI had taken up residence there in an old, threadbare armchair, their fingerless gloved hand stroking idly at the head of the enormous skag sitting at their feet. Where the single eye in the center of their face had been reduced to a thin strip of dull light, it blossomed into a bright circle that illuminated the depths of their bulky hood.

Mattress springs creaked in protest. Rhys was attempting to sit upright.

Fl4k’s head canted to the side. They stopped petting the skag and rose to their feet.

“Your body temperature is reading abnormally high, indicating you may be in need of medical assistance,” they said without much inflection. “You should remain here while I find an individual with the correct experience for these circumstances.”

“I’m not sick,” Rhys croaked out, bloodshot eyes falling on his companion’s towering form. “Well, not in the way you’re thinking. Remember what we were talking about on the way to Goodneighbor, about omegas and heats?”

“Yes, I recall the conversation you speak of.”

“Yeah? How about what I told you about me being an omega? That I was probably due to go through a heat soon. Remember that?”

There was a pause from Fl4k. The skag’s jaws gaped wide, a slobbering sound breaking the silence as its long, thin tongue licked at its chops.

“You told me that you did not have any more of the medicines that would keep your mating cycle symptoms at bay at your disposal. We came to Goodneighbor with the intention of finding a chem supplier with the potential to replenish your supply.”

“Right. Good. You pay attention. That’s good.”

“Why would I not pay attention to our conversations, Rhys? They are enlightening and are a means to endure the passage of time.”

“Let’s just say I, er, didn’t have many friends back in the vault.” Swiping at his clammy skin, Rhys pulled a face as his hand came away damp, wiping it on his tank top. “Look, anyway, I’ve kind of—it seems I might have underestimated what my pre-heat would be like. And I’m going to need, well, I don’t really know what I’m going to need. I’ve never gone through this before.”

An anxious laugh escaped Rhys, dying in his throat almost immediately. Fl4k regarded him, crossing the rest of the distance between them after a moment. On the bed, Rhys adjusted himself, his expression one of obvious discomfort. He pulled at the leg of his boxer shorts, then huffed out a breath, which became a quiet groan. His head fell into the cradle of his hands, his body shivering as he sat like that for awhile.

“Is there some way I can be of assistance in this moment of distress?”

“I need something,” he answered, almost choking on the words. “I don’t think I can handle this. I need suppressors, or an alpha, or—or _something_.”

“It is the middle of the nocturnal cycle. We do not have the means to acquire the medicine you seek at this hour, and I do not have the same anatomy as your human alphas, should you wish to have me lie with you.”

“No. You don’t.” Drawing his long legs up at the knees, Rhys wrapped his arms around them, hugging them close to his body. “But it doesn’t mean that you’re not able to help me.”

Rhys patted the bed beside him, watching as Flak took the seat he’d indicated. The robot pulled back their hood, exposing the smooth surface of their chassis, and Rhys reached out to grasp their hand.

“Four fingers,” he observed, flipping it so that it sat palm up. “They’re human enough. They could work.”

“Yes, they are quite agile and dexterous. They are often efficient for the hunt and toil.”

“Not what I meant. I mean, you can use your fingers. On me. It shouldn’t be _too_ different. Than—than an alpha. It’s not like I’m a virgin or anything. And they’re really not all that large like with RobCo.”

“My fingers,” Fl4k repeated, as if they were going to say more. Their eye fell on where Rhys was gripping their palm, closing their metallic digits over his. 

Rhys’ voice had dropped an octave or so when he said, “It’s worth trying. It couldn’t hurt. I’m not going to be able to sleep like this anyway. Might as well try to relieve it as much as I can, right?”

“You are a member of my pack, Rhys. If you propose this as a solution for easing your discomfort, than I will oblige you.”

The young man was nodding, his body unfolding, hands reaching for his top. Fl4k reached over, then, seeing him struggling to remove it. They tugged the garment over his head, which pushed some of his hair against his sweaty skin so that it stuck there, matted. The shirt was folded and set aside, Fl4k looking on at Rhys with an expectant gaze.

Even though it was dark in the room, Fl4k’s sensors told them that Rhys’ skin was flushed, would probably be bright pink under illumination. They touched it, feeling the heat radiating off the smooth, unblemished surface. Rhys flinched, his breath quickening. Then his fingers were scrambling at the waistband of his boxers. They clung to him, to the backs of his thighs and the curve of his ass, as if they were damp. As soon as he had them down, their state was evident. The material was bunched and twisted, sticking to itself. Had Fl4k been human, they would have smelled the heady, cloying scent wafting off both the garment and Rhys, permeating the room; if they’d been a human alpha, it would have driven them near mad with lust. But they weren’t either and so they remained impassive, helping to remove the underwear from Rhys’ legs.

Rolling over on to his stomach, Rhys gave a pitiful whine. The slight part of his legs revealed to Fl4k that a thin, clear, and glistening substance painted his inner thighs. Out of curiosity, Fl4k touched it, startling their companion as they traced the tacky dampness to the cleft of Rhys’ ass. They prodded the hole there with a single digit, and Rhys gasped.

“You are producing a voluminous amount of liquid from your nether orifice,” Fl4k remarked. “Is this a normal human function?”

“If you’re a horny omega, sure,” Rhys panted. “Just put—put your finger in me already, Fl4k. You’re torturing me by being a tease.”

“My intentions were not to harass you. I apologize if that is what they appeared to be.”

There was the prominent sound of a pillow being ruffled as Rhys slammed his face down on it. The words he spoke were muffled. Somehow Fl4k understood, and they wasted no more time. The smooth articulation of one of their fingers prodded gingerly at Rhys’ entrance, pushing inside a moment later. Fl4k made haste, not even letting it sink down to their knuckle plating before pushing another finger in alongside it.

Rhys moaned, the sound deep and robust. He thrust back against Fl4k’s hand, the sensation seizing him with pleasure but not quite quenching his desire. Even with the AI beginning to find a semblance of rhythm, sliding his digits in and out in a way that was, ironically, mechanical, it wasn’t enough. The omega needed more. Deeper, more force. Just…_more_.

“Fl4k,” Rhys turned his head to say, desperation creeping into his words. “Don’t hold back on me.”

“I will not, Rhys. If you wish for me to attempt to increase your physical pleasure, I will oblige you, though I have some concern for your anatomy and its receptiveness of my appendages.” 

“Y-yeah. Go ahead. You won’t hurt me.”

Heeding Rhys’ words, Fl4k poked at his hole with a third finger, wiggling and maneuvering it until it was working its way inside him, slick easing its path. A deep sigh escaped the omega, becoming a hiss of breath. He thought Fl4k adding another appendage would ease the rampant feelings, the textures of the AI’s joints driving in deep and spreading him quelling his libido. But he’d been wrong. It only ignited the lust in him further, the feeling gnawing deep into his groin so hard it was painful. Not even the friction of his cock sliding against the mattress with each of Fl4k’s movements eased his tension. It was only helping to produce more slick. 

Suddenly something else was pushing up against his ass; Fl4k’s thumb. The muscles in his back tensed, knowing that perhaps he’d underestimated the situation and this was going too far, but unable to bring himself to stop it. His body craved this, the fullness, the pressure, the _satisfaction_.

Only, when Fl4k’s thumb had joined its counterparts, Rhys moaning and writhing as the entirety of the robot’s hand attempted to slip deeper, it wasn’t satisfying. Not in the way he expected it to be. Sure, it made his legs tremble and electric dance up his spine; made it feel as if every last one of the hairs on his body were standing on end and his heart would explode from how it was trip-hammering. But it was as if his body had its own awareness, relaying to his brain that this was not an alpha causing him such pleasure (at least not in the traditional sense), and it was not an actual knot filling him to capacity, locking their bodies together in an intimate embrace.

“This….” His breath hitching as he tried to regulate his breathing, Rhys licked at his lips, tried again. “This isn’t working.”

A whine echoed through the room, distinctly inhuman. There was a second that Rhys had to look over to where the noise was coming from before a slimy tongue coated in excess saliva swathed across his face and swept back his hair. With a frustrated groan, Rhys reached out and pushed the monstrous head out of his face as gently as possible. 

“Dammit, Mr. Chew,” Rhys said.

“Down, boy!” came the sharp command from Fl4k, the skag back pedalling to the middle of the room where its rump fell to the carpet. It panted loudly, tongue smacking at its jowls with wild abandon. “I believe he has grown wary of waiting for me to return my attentions to him. I will need to attend to him soon.”

A deep, exasperated sigh escaped Rhys’ lungs, his eyes squeezing shut.

“It’s alright. Just do what you need to do.”

“But Rhys, you have not achieved physical relief. Your genitals are still erect and you are still producing the liquid in overly adequate amounts.”

“It’s fine. I—it’s enough. Nothing either of us can do is going to help right now. You can stop trying to assist me.”

There was some hesitancy from the AI. They seemed conflicted about Rhys’ words, not complying right away. 

“Really, Fl4k. I know you’re trying to help me out as best as you can, but it’s pretty clear it’s not going to do the trick.”

It was then that Fl4k finally began to withdraw. Their thumb was first to slip out, the joint brushing against Rhys’ walls as he shuddered hard, already missing the stretch. The rest of Fl4k’s digits popped free, making Rhys feel even more bereft of something he was so desperate to possess. Appendages covered in a healthy coating of slick, the AI wiped their hand on their coat until it was relatively clean. They then stood, same hand coming down on the omega’s head, the weight almost light upon him.

“If you no longer require me, I will take my beast to relieve himself. I doubt I have anything to fear, but I will be careful of where I tread in this vicinity. You should make an attempt to acquire proper rest in the state that you are in.”

There was the sound of shifting from the bed. Rhys wriggled out from Fl4k’s hand and rolled on to his side, eyes cracked to slits. His hand fell to his crotch, then pulled away as if burned. Lips parted, he nodded.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to. But you do what you need to.” His eyes flickered to Mr. Chew, whose butt waggled against the floor as he noticed Rhys staring at him. “And Fl4k?”

“Yes, Rhys?” The AI answered, patting the side of their coat to call the skag over. There was a curious growl, and then Mr. Chew was circling their legs.

“Thanks. For everything.”

XXX

“We’ve already discussed this, Troy,” the dark-haired man seated on the other side of the desk said, adjusting his tie with a gloved hand. “If your sister continues to refuse to pull her weight around, I’ll be cutting you both loose. I run a tight ship around Goodneighbor. I can’t have two wayward, rebellious children mucking that up for me just because they’re under my employ.”

Against where he was leaning back on the hotel office wall, one knee drawn up so that the sole of his boot rested against it, the young man cocked both his head and an eyebrow. His disheveled, dark hair flopped over his forehead, defying gravity as it somehow didn’t obscure his face.

“We’re _not_ children, Katagawa,” he snapped back, eyes rolling in their sockets. “And _come on_. I know, I know. Ty does sample the wares too much and gets all lazy cos of it. But are you really gonna punish me, your right hand man, too?”

“You enable her, Troy. You’re an enabler. Not once have I seen you try and discourage her behavior. If anything, I’ve only witnessed you _encourage_ it.” Pausing, the man rested his elbow on the desk, his chin coming to lean in the cup of his palm. “You see, I know what kind of people you are. Why, we’re practically spiritual kin. _Those Calypsos_, I often find myself thinking to myself, _are the serpents proffering the fruit of the knowledge tree in the fabled den of Eden_. And most of the masses will gladly reach and accept it from them. Those two could convince the flock that the reckoning has already passed and they are the second coming, if they so desired. They are the children of gods, and gods among men.”

“I didn’t know you were fanboying so hard over us, Katagawa,” Troy said, eyes gleaming with mischief, the slash of his grin smug. “But, ya know, can’t say you’re wrong. That’s why I have every last little bitch in this town calling us Gods with capital g’s. And I think I can speak for both me and Ty when I say it’s fucking flattering.” 

“Yes. But, you see. I simply can’t have you two playing both your own game _and_ mine. That’s bad business practice. And that foul attempt at that broadcast show—what is your sister even trying to accomplish there?”

For a moment, the look in Troy’s eyes darkened. 

“You try telling Ty she can’t have something she desperately wants,” he remarked before the silence could grow uncomfortable. “Go on, I dare ya.”

Katagawa gestured dismissively at him and purred without missing a beat, “I’d much rather leave that up to you. You _are_ her twin, after all. Even normal siblings will stick together through the best and worst of times. You just need to intimidate her a little, Troy. Make her fear that she could lose not only her closest pal in the world, but also her eternal pillar of support.” 

“Easier said than done. We’re _not_ friends.” Crossing his flesh arm against his chest, his fingers cradling the upper part of his mechanical one, Troy’s tone became petulant. “I’m just a parasitic knothead to her.”

“Simply not true. Women are more delicate than the rarest of flowers in their hearts and minds. And they are _so_ easily manipulated by their emotions. Besides, what could a beta female possibly understand about an alpha male’s life? Their hopes, and dreams, and lusts?” Katagawa paused as if giving Troy a moment to answer, but the younger man just stared at him and he shook his head. “_Nothing_. They know nothing of what makes us the alphas we are, other than that we possess unique anatomical enhancements.”

“Let’s not get fucking gross about this, man. It’s too early for that shit.”

“There’s nothing ‘gross’,” Katagawa threw his hands up, making air quotes, “about our biological needs, Troy. As rare as omegas are in our modern times, you’re still young, and may find yourself some day wanting to induce a bond so that you may put one in a family way. It’s in your instinctual hardwiring as an alpha.”

“Ok, we’re done with this conversation. I never want to hear anyone mention me aging and freakin’ children in the same sentence again. Change of topic. _Right now_.”

“Very well. But you will not be able to deny such urges much longer. By all means, hold on to your youth. Just don’t expect your mind and body to follow suit.”

Growling, Troy’s words were torn from his throat. “I said enough!”

Palms up to diffuse the situation, there was the slightest expression of amusement on Katagawa’s face, his false right eye catching the light and gleaming with satisfaction.

“Alright, alright. Calm yourself, Troy. Nothing to be worked up over. Please, pull up a chair, take a load off. I have Nuka-Cola, if you’re thirsty.” 

It took a minute, maybe two. Troy refused to budge from his place, glowering at his boss for what seemed like an eternity. But then his shoulders sagged in his coat, his human arm falling back to his side as if broken and limp. Seizing a wooden chair, he dragged it over and turned it backwards, plopping down on it with legs spread to either side of him, arm draped over the headrest. His mechanical limb hung so that it dragged the floor, fingers bent at the knuckles. 

“Let’s discuss the current status of warehouse inventory and calculate distribution together,” Katagawa said, his demeanor nothing but pleasant. “I am eager to hear about the level of competence you’ve shown this week.”

“Whatever you say. Just gimme one of those Nuka-Colas.”


	2. Vault of the Omega

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troy learns that there's an omega under the Rexford Hotel's roof and hatches a spur of the moment plan to get closer to him. Some of Rhys' origins as a vault survivor and how he ended up in the Commonwealth are revealed.

Come the morning, Rhys was still not well. If anything, he seemed to have spiraled into a worse state. His lips were dry and cracked, skin taking on a pallor that concerned Fl4k even though they could tell by the Vault-Tec device attached to the omega’s wrist that he was still running a high fever. They opened up a can of Cram, feeding it to him cold with a slice of stale bread. Bottled water was sipped in abundance, Fl4k having scanned it to ensure that it was purified. Omegas were extremely sensitive to radiation, so Rhys had told him. More so than most other humans. Their tissues and organs were susceptible to its effects in a way that could be described as overzealous. To ensure Rhys’ continued safety, they stocked up on Rad-X and RadAway whenever they could. On more than one occasion, Rhys’ Pip Boy had displayed concerning levels, and they were lucky to have the chems on hand.

It was clear to both of them that Rhys was not going to be able to set out into town or continue on if they had to do so. So Fl4k volunteered to rent the room for a second day and inquire where they could find Rhys the medicines he needed. Telling the omega to keep the door locked, they left Mr. Chew behind, the skag waddling over to Rhys’ bedside and lapping gently at his exposed hand, perhaps in an attempt to cool him down and comfort him. When Fl4k ventured out, Mr. Chew was getting weak pats from Rhys, then jumping on the bed to curl up at his feet. 

At the front desk stood the older woman who they had dealt with the prior evening, Clair Hutchins by name. Leaning over the counter reading an outdated magazine, he looked up at the AI’s approach, seemingly startled that a robot of their caliber could move with such quick, silent steps.

“How was your night’s stay at the famous Rexford Hotel?” she inquired. “Not that it really matters anymore. All this place’s charm got replaced when the folk started shooting up in the lobby.”

“I did not see any individuals wielding firearms here,” Fl4k answered. “Is such a thing a natural occurrence? The nocturnal cycle was uneventful.”

Straightening up, Clair inclined her head to gaze up at Fl4k’s singular eye. She regarded it for awhile.

“You’re a funny kind of assaultron, aren’t you?” she finally said. “Didn’t you have a young man with you, and a skag? Where’d they get to, letting you wander off on your lonesome and all.”

“They are still in the room that we gave you the payment for yesterday. We will be needing that room for another twenty-four hour cycle, at the least. I wish to pay you for its continued usage.”

“Well, you weren’t going to be parking yourselves there for free, that’s for sure. Mr. Katagawa would up and do worse than fire me if I let you get away with _that_. That’ll be ten more caps, and not one less.”

Reaching into one of their many storage pouches, Fl4k palmed a handful of caps they’d let accumulate there, spilling them out on to the counter, the currency making a rattling clamor. 

“There, I have given you the adequate amount of crap from my pocket.”

“Crap, you call it? Looks like genuine currency to me, Mr. Roboto.”

“That is not my name.” Fl4k sounded huffy when they said it, their words acquiring a distinct curtness to them. “I am called Fl4k. I wish to make inquiries into other matters that I am to assume that you, as a resident of Goodneighbor, can assist with.”

“What a picky robot you are,” Clair mused to herself, her eyes flashing with interest. “Fire away. No cost for questions, though a little incentive never hurt. My boss doesn’t have to know.”

“I have many things to trade other than caps,” Fl4k told her. “I will display them after my inquiries. I require the knowledge of where one might purchase wares of medicinal properties.”

The look on Clair’s face didn’t change, but she shifted her stance, hands going to her hips akimbo style. When she spoke, her words were laden with suspicion. 

“I’m not one who goes and puts my nose in anyone’s business. But I have to wonder what a robotic like you would want to do with chems, other than redistribute them. Maybe your young master is looking into the supply business? He sure didn’t seem like a client.”

“He is not my master and, no, that is not the situation. I do not think he would be pleased with me if I discussed deeper matters with you. You are not a part of our pack.”

“Is that so?” Clair’s face screwed into a scrutinizing expression, and she eventually sighed. “Well, I can’t say I knew anything if you didn’t tell me, right? You’ll wanna talk to the God-King. He should be out of his meeting with the boss shortly. Why don’t you have a seat somewhere and I’ll send him on over to you.”

“I do not believe I have ever been in the presence of a god or a king before. How should I address them?”

“Ha! Don’t let the name fool you. That boy’s neither god nor king. The rat’s just got delusions of grandeur.” 

“So he is a rodent, then? That is advantageous.”

Clair sighed once more, seeming to give up on the conversation. “Just let me see what you got to trade.”

XXX

By the time Troy emerged from Katagawa’s office space, he had the beginnings of a headache stirring in his temples and a need for a stiff drink; or a dip into his own supply stock, if it came down to that. His mood had soured considerably, and when he passed Clair, he almost snapped at her as she stopped him. She crossed her arms over her chest as she stared at him, poised as if daring him to try anything.

“Got a customer for you,” she said dryly. “Says the name’s Fl4k. I’m not sure what exactly it’s looking for, but it’s sitting right over there waiting.”

With a gesture, Clair indicated the bulky form perched precariously on a bar stool near the front entrance. The AI was currently examining a bottle of liquor that had been laying out for so long it had become completely entombed in dust, the cracked and peeling label illegible. They upended it over the bartop, nothing but more dust spilling out.

“The _assaultron_?” Troy questioned, sounding incredulous. “You’ve got to be shitting me. What’s it even going to pay with, spare parts?”

“It can pay just fine. Paid me for the hotel room twice.”

“You’re fucking with me. Only synths have that kind of intelligence and capability.”

“It ain’t a synth, and it ain’t an assaultron, either. It’s like someone married them both. Could be worth looking into. You should go over and at least talk to it.”

“Fine. This better not be a waste of my goddam time, though. Katagawa’s already up my ass about being behind in Daytripper production.”

Troy hadn’t even finished crossing the room when the scent hit him. It wasn’t bombarding his every sense and slowly eroding his ability to think, but it was potent enough to spear his interest. He was able to continue his approach without being derailed, pinpointing the smell as coming from the garment the robot was wearing. 

There was no denying that scent, though. It belonged to an omega, had to. Nothing else in the wastelands, living or otherwise, could smell that sharp and distinct to an alpha. And the scent itself, like a hybrid of the sweetest refined materials mixed in with something industrial and mechanical. They were not uncommon scents, but also not ones he could associate with any particular omega he’d had a previous encounter with. Not that he’d met all that many in his lifetime, when he did the math and added them up. 

Whatever this mysterious robot was, it couldn’t be an omega itself. Which meant it had either come into contact with one or belonged to one. This was turning out to be an interesting predicament after all.

As Troy stepped behind the bar, Fl4k looked up at him, their head tilting in the obvious direction of the man’s mechanical arm.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Troy spoke up, grabbing an unopened bottle of Bobrov’s Best from beneath the bar, no bending required, considering the length of his prosthetic. A stained shotglass was produced, the liquor poured to the brim. 

“You are the one known as the God-King?” Fl4k asked, something wary in their words. “You are not of a rodent species as the woman at the front desk led me to believe. How curious. Judging by your size and your anatomical attachments, you appear to be a harmonization between super mutant and my ilk.”

Troy’s gaze flickered over to Clair. A sneer crossed his lips, revealing his metal-plated teeth.

“Neither,” he said. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m just a human chem supplier. And since you were seeking me out, I’m gonna assume you want something of what I have.”

“Yes, your assumption would be correct. My packmate is in need of the medicinal compounds required to suppress the symptoms of his mating cycle. We were informed that individuals in Goodneighbor such as yourself are some of the few suppliers who would have such inhibitors.”

“Packmate? Wait, this _is_ a person we’re talking about, right? I mean, you’re not planning to give this shit to like an animal or nothing. We’re talking one hundred percent human, ah, _omega_?”

“Yes. He is the only human in my pack, and has declared himself an omega.”

“Excellent. Great to hear. Can’t be too careful. All kinds of crazies these days wasting good chems on their pooches.” Troy pulled his most sincerest face, complete with beguiling eyes. “Anyway, Look, typically I would have what you’re looking for. However….” 

Taking up the glass, Troy downed the liquor, visibly shuddering as it worked down his gullet. God, he hated this moonshine shit. Give him a dose of Jet or a Nuka-Cola Quantum instead any day. His thoughts were having trouble coalescing, ideas bouncing off each other one after the other. To think, an omega, right under the Rexford’s roof. Possibly on the verge of a heat. How could Katagawa have missed that? Then again, the proprietor and chem kingpin hardly ever ventured out of his office when he was holed up here. If the robot had handled most of the arrangements for their room and board, it would have been easy for them to slip by unnoticed.

Which was absolutely perfect, in regards to the plans Troy was so desperately trying to lay out out on such short notice. Katagawa not sinking his claws immediately into the first omega that had probably come through Goodneighbor in well over a year opened up a world of possibilities for the younger alpha. He’d have to act with alacrity, be the serpent his boss so deemed him to be. 

Fl4k had been looking on with curiosity, waiting for Troy to continue without seeming like he was going to prompt him. Their hand reached out, plucking the bottle from where Troy had set it down, re-filling the shotglass. As they did, the alpha caught a whiff of scent from his sleeve. It knocked his thoughts down like soldiers on the frontlines, and he had to mentally scramble not to let them escape him again.

“I can send you to our direct source of supplies with my very own blessing,” Troy continued, eyeing the full shotglass. “The heart of Goodneighbor’s chem bounty, you could call it. Fresh batches guaranteed. You familiar with the old HalluciGen building?”

“Ah, yes. The iron-clad facility to the west. I have never ventured very close to it on my solo travels. They would not have supplies that would interest or be useful to those of my origin.”

“That’d be the place. Is your companion with you here?”

“Yes. He is resting. It is pertinent that we acquire the medicine, but I cannot move him at this moment. Perhaps I could provide you with extra currency were you to make the journey.”

“Tempting, but no can do. This is a special favor courtesy of the God-King. My boss wouldn’t appreciate me leaving town right now, either.” Against his better judgment, Troy snatched up the drink, poising it as his lips. “It’s not far, though. You’ll be back in no time. I’m sure nobody’s gonna mess with your boy.”

“Perhaps.” The AI’s body was hunched in uncertainty.

“Here ya go.” Downing his drink quickly, gasping for air afterward, Troy produced a folded flyer from his coat pocket. Unfurling it revealed an advertisement for something called COV Radio. Beneath that was the same insignia that was on the back of Troy’s coat—Twin skulls in contrasting red and white, a snake emerging from each of their mouths in cardinal opposition. “Show anyone that once you get there. Tell ‘em the Twin Gods sent you.”

“And they will supply me with the inhibitors I require?”

“If they don’t, I’ll personally go there and string ‘em up by their balls. Nobody disobeys direct orders from the Twin Gods.”

“Very well.” Lifting from the overtaxed barstool, Fl4k straightened up to their full height. Still, Troy loomed over them by a few inches; concerning, since the AI had never met a human quite so large that wasn’t some kind of super mutant. “I will venture there as soon as possible, while the light remains more than efficient. My companion will likely not attempt to emerge and engage in activities in those hours. Plus my beast is a faithful protector. I appreciate the assistance, one that calls himself a God-King.”

Troy heaved his robotic shoulder in a shrug. “It ain’t no skin off my back. Anything for a customer.”

The alpha’s gaze didn’t leave the AI as it appeared to pat down its pockets, either making sure it still had all its possessions or assessing its supplies. Who knew? Then it lumbered for the front entrance, the wood creaking as one of the doors was opened. 

Troy waited until it had slipped away and, through the bare window, could see that it had ventured into the depths of town, striking out on its journey. Then he hurried to the front desk again, where Clair set a hard look upon him. She had been watching the unfolding conversation between the pair like a hawk guarding its nest.

“I need the master key,” he told her, holding out his hand. “Don’t ask questions. Just give it to me.”

The older woman reached beneath the desk, slamming an iron coffer down between them. She flipped the lock, gesturing to the rusted, plain key inside.

“It’s all yours, ratboy. But whatever it is you’re up to, I don’t know a goddam thing about it.”

“I can live with that.”

XXX

With the fever of his pre-heat still setting him aflame, and the rising tide of delirium creeping through the crevasses of his mind in its wake, stray thoughts and memories converged in Rhys’ slumbering head to form dreams. He was back in his previous life before joining the populace of the Commonwealth. Back in the vault deep underground, with one of the Overseers; his father, Saul, a soft-spoken and wise man. Rhys had just come from medical that morning, the side of his neck shiny where personnel had swathed salve on the freshly inked circular shape there. He almost rubbed at it, realizing what he was doing a moment later and letting his hand reach for the back of his neck instead. The extra sensitive nerves and flesh there were throbbing, as if irritated. The pressure of his fingers were only a slight relief, and as soon as he drew them away, the discomfort returned with double the force.

“Is your bonding site acting up?” came a quiet voice.

Behind the desk in his office, Saul Henderson sat, glasses perched at the end of his nose. He regarded Rhys over the rim of them, his expression relaying a certain brand of receptiveness that distinctly embodied his persona.

“Yeah, since the middle of the night,” Rhys replied, slumping down in the chair across from the man. 

“That’s to be expected. You’re sixteen now, Rhys. It’s perfectly normal for a young omega like you to be experiencing such biological symptoms.”

“I know, dad. It’s just that—I mean, why’d I have to be born an omega? It would’ve been easier if I was just like you.”

“An alpha, you mean?” Sighing, Saul stood, coming around the front of the desk directly in front of his son, leaning his weight back against the structure. “Would you really prefer to have presented as an alpha, knowing that it means you’d be locked into certain obligations for life? That you’d have to eventually take a seat as an Overseer and tend to the needs of the omegas assigned to you?”

“Maybe not,” Rhys answered after a moment’s consideration. “But it doesn’t change the fact that heats sound awful and alphas can be such stupid knotheads. Especially when they know you’re…inexperienced.”

“Rhys, if any of the alphas here are acting like _that_, then I hope you’d report them to me immediately. You know we don’t tolerate the mistreatment of omegas here. This isn’t the barbaric society of before the bombs fell.” Seeming to recognize that his son was growing increasingly uncomfortable, Saul sighed. “Besides, if you regularly keep taking your injections, none of this should become a problem. Not until you’re ready for it. And though I don’t think it’s ideal for an omega to partner with a beta overall, I won’t be disappointed if that’s what you end up choosing.”

“You don’t need to worry too much about that. Nobody here is interested in pursuing the son of an Overseer, even if they _are_ an omega.”

Pushing off the desk to clap a hand to Rhys’ shoulder, Saul patted his son in a reassuring manner.

“You say that now, but give it some time. You’ll see. The petty squabbles will be replaced with budding feelings of a different persuasion.”

“I have a hard time believing they will.”

“If your mother was still with us, she’d be better at explaining the tides of omega romance.” Sighing again, Saul let his hand slip away. “You’ll just have to trust me on this one. Anyway, how are you healing? I trust the tattooing process wasn’t too painful.”

The young man winced at the question, resisting the urge to make another attempt at touching the tender mark. 

“It hurts still. But not too badly. I think I’m going to live.” 

It was Rhys’ first attempt at humor since he’d entered the office, his smile subdued. His father matched his expression, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“It’s good to see coming of age hasn’t eradicated your sense of humor.”

“It’s going to take more than a little wariness over my upcoming G.O.A.T to do that. I’m pretty certain—”

Footsteps in the office doorway forced Rhys to pause mid-sentence. His father, distracted, had looked over in that direction, and Rhys twisted around to follow his gaze.

“Henderson, I’m sorry to interrupt.” It was one of the other alpha Overseers, Hugo Vasquez, a buff man with a greasy comb over. His dark eyes fell on the omega and seemed to linger. Particularly on his newfangled tattoo. “I apologize, Rhys. Going to have to ask you to leave. Official Overseer business.”

With a nod, Saul addressed his son as well, “Go on. I’m sure this would only bore you, anyway. We’ll talk later.”

But there would be no later, or any other point in time in which Rhys and his father would cross paths again. He would remember the blood on Hugo’s hands, the blossoms of stains soaking into the alpha’s jumpsuit. Running, like his father had instructed him to do; not to hide with the other omegas in the case of mutiny, but to venture into the unknown. 

Into the wastelands of the Commonwealth, which had been his home for the last three and a half years. 

Mr. Chew was snapping and snarling when Rhys awoke, his eyelids feeling glued to his cheeks. They came slowly unstuck, gummy residue dispersing, blurry vision solidifying into recognizable shapes. The hotel room was awash with the sounds of a struggle, of growling, something hitting the ground hard. Then a burst of a yell, human in nature, sharp whimpers crashing down around it. 

Watching the scene unfurl before him, Rhys wasn’t quite sure what his eyes were relaying to him. It looked like a towering figure had invaded the room, a mechanical limb flailing about, knocking objects over with haphazard force. At first he thought that it was Fl4k in the throes of battle. But the robotic arm was too cumbersome and clunky to belong to the AI, and Mr. Chew was currently in the midst of attacking its owner, a massive metal hand planted dead center on his face preventing him from closing his jaws around his prey.

In a swift movement, a leg collided with the skag’s body, sending him soaring across the room. He plowed into the wall, where he slid down into a crumpled heap, dazed, claws scrambling against the carpet as he tried to right himself. Just when it looked like Mr. Chew would climb back to his feet, his legs gave out and he was yanked back to the floor by gravity.

The other figure turned to Rhys, the daylight streaming through the windows painting him in a hazy pale glow that burned yellow. Still, the omega could make out the strange adornments decorating his face, the tall, lanky form and robotic arm that looked more like it belonged attached to a powersuit. 

And the smell. Goddam, the smell wafting off of him had an allure that Rhys recognized immediately, wanted to respond to without rational thought as if he were a pet called to its master’s heel. Unlike the figure’s outward form, it was cozy and inviting in its implications, like being wrapped back up in the comfort of his old home in the vault. 

Whether his visitor was some strange human hybrid, a rare variation of super mutant, or some even rarer synth, the omega knew one thing: the thing in the room with him was a bona fide alpha male.

Alright, so Rhys actually knew _two_ things; the other point of information being, had the alpha demanded he get on his hands and knees and submit to him then and there, his compromised inhibitions and turbulent hormones would’ve had him obliging.

But the alpha didn’t make such a request. Instead, he seemed to rake his gaze over Rhys’ coiled form on the bed, eyes coming to rest on the polished and well kept chassis of his Pip Boy. A human hand shot out, grabbing Rhys by the forearm, yanking it up so that the apparatus was clearly visible in the light.

“You’re an omega _and_ a vault survivor?” his captor said, eyes wide. Though his tone sounded ironic, his infatuation was clear. “Double fucking bonus.”

“Who the hell are you?” Rhys demanded.

Although the words came out as harsh croaks, they were easy enough for Troy to understand. “You don’t know?” Snatching a thin blanket up, Troy dropped the arm attached to the Pip Boy to drape the cloth over the omega’s listless form. “I’m your new best friend from the wastelands. Fl4k sent me.”

Rhys could only turn his head away and groan. It was clear he wasn’t up to much conversation, let alone protesting the claim.

He was vulnerable, easy pickings. 

And the alpha, lean, and aggressive, and smelling like an omega’s wet dream made flesh, needed only to reach out and pluck him away.

Which he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really enjoying writing this fic. The lores fit together nicely. It's become a bit of a slow burn, which I kind of didn't intend but prefer, since there's so many plot points that arose that I really don't want to leave open-ended the more I get into it. Not sure how many parts it'll be yet still, but it's quite lengthy already. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you're enjoying. You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MorteAmore)


	3. Clash of Alphas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troy makes his way across the wastelands with Rhys in tow and encounters a deadly adversary. Later, he seeks out help from his sister Tyreen, whose harboring a well-kept secret. Fl4k returns and attempts to get a handle on the situation, but underestimates the young alpha.

Making the trek to the Shamrock Taphouse from Goodneighbor wasn’t exactly the worst of ventures Troy had to endure out in the wastes. It was a relatively straightforward path, and Raiders tended to keep their distance ever since he and Tyreen had decided to make their home here and had put them in their place. Ty was a born brawler, merciless and quick to defend herself with just about anything in her repertoire. Usually armed with her prized triple-barrel shotgun, not to mention a silvered tongue akin to her brother’s, she was a force to be reckoned with.

She never traversed long distances without Troy at her side. He himself liked to get in close to his prey, deliver a more intimate form of pain and devastation. His weapon of choice was a poison modded ceremonial machete Raiders called a Kremvh’s Tooth. When that didn’t get the job done, he could always use the mini flamethrower he’d cobbled from scrap.

They were deadly together, both in matters of armed combat and Machiavellian schemes. Troy’s massive and intimidating mechanical parts proved effective as additional and impromptu weaponry. Humans native to this region had learned their lesson in the twin’s presence. Even feral ghouls showed a distinct wariness that either of them were experts at exploiting.

So Troy didn’t expect his short journey to be interrupted on this golden and mild mid-morning. Whistling low and off key, only the sound of the winds in the sparse grass and the scent of the nearby harbor were his companions. There was one thing else, though: the omega he carried like precious cargo, who had grown feisty over their journey. It was hard to tell if he’d been agitated about being whisked away in the arms of a stranger who claimed allegiance with his robotic entity, or if his state of being was growing ever more provoked simply from being around such a virile alpha.

Troy knew the signs of an omega in the first stages of an oncoming heat, though. There was the smell that drew an alpha in like a siren’s call, and the restlessness and involuntary physical cues that plagued them. Those telltale signs often radiated like a nuclear core, shiny and glowing, enticing one’s alpha desires to bare witness and be enraptured. Despite his current status, Rhys was displaying all those symptoms. So much that Troy’s tune faltered, his body heaving in a sigh.

“Could you settle down for maybe five goddam seconds?” he snapped, not meaning to sound so harsh. “I’m not even doing anything to you. For fuck’s sake, I’m even trying to _save_ your ass.”

There was a pause in movement against him, a clear indication that Rhys had heard him and was rational enough to respond.

“Put me down, then,” he said, sounding disgruntled. “I can walk. I’m going into a heat, not _crippled_.”

“No can do. You might decide to make a break for it. And this is Raider territory.”

“I can handle Raiders.”

“Oh, excuse me. Should’ve realized.” Troy rolled his eyes. Thankfully Rhys couldn’t see it, or it probably would’ve set him further on edge. “Forgive me for the fact that **a)** you’re an omega on the verge of a heat. And **b)** judging by the dumbass way you’re acting, you’ve never dealt with an alpha Raider before, _or_ the way they are around rare omegas on the cusp.” When Rhys didn’t answer him, awash in silent fury, he added, “Typical Vault brat. Naive as hell. You know that asshole owner of the Rexford, Katagawa, was an alpha, right? You were right under his nose. If he’d found out about you, he would’ve turned you into his own personal dick cosy. You’d be just another breeder omega bitch.”

A snort tore from Rhys, dismissive of the words. It was followed by a raw laugh, like the sound of a man desperately clinging to his sanity.

“And what exactly are _you_ planning to do?” he said, sounding like he was out of breath. “Invite me for blood tea and snack cakes?”

“Just be fucking grateful I came across you before he did.”

It was on Rhys’ tongue to say more, to continue this cutting banter between them despite his compromised states of rational thought and ability. 

But, just a couple hundred feet away, the sudden scraping of iron against solid stone split the air, grating on both their nerves. A moment went by in which it wasn’t clear where it had come from. Then a rusted sedan missing its tires, the rims sparking as they slid across the ground, came rushing forward as if pushed by an invisible force. In a split second, Troy was releasing his hold on Rhys, removing a wicked, cruel blade from where it’d been hidden in a sheath on his belt.

“Hide,” he hissed at the omega.

And not a moment too soon. 

Leaping over the frame of the car, blotting out the sun with the sharp claws it held aloft, was a deathclaw. It landed with a thud on the cracked and broken pavement, claws making awful scratching sounds against the surface. Then it seemed to notice Troy, beady opaque eyes falling directly where he stood, its short snout gaping to reveal its saliva flecked fangs as it roared. Spittle seeped from its jowls in gossamer strands. Standing only about Troy’s height, the deadly reptile was still a juvenile. On muscular, agile legs it charged for them, moving at a speed that defied its bulk. 

Gritting his teeth and yelling wordlessly, Troy stepped out to meet the creature, a mechanical hand coming between them, snatching at one of the rigid, segmented horns that curved from its skull. The beast grunted and growled, its head shaking furiously from side to side as it struggled to break free.

“Aw, little guy, where’s ya momma at?” Troy taunted, a manic titter rising in his chest.

Claws cut through the air, catching the material of his jacket, shredding it with such thorough ease it left jagged scratches in the skin beneath. 

“Sonuvabitch!” Troy yelped out, letting go as he was startled. 

The deathclaw took the opportunity presented to it. Its hind legs bunching, tail slicing through the air with a crack akin to a whip, it leaped at the alpha, mouth wide open to clamp down on flesh, ready to rip and tear as it took a huge chunk.

Troy darted out of the way with a hair’s breadth between them, coming up behind the creature and swinging his blade in a wide arc. The poisoned edge sliced into its back, narrowly avoiding its spikes and cutting deep, the wound parting to spill forth noxious blood. The sword was yanked out, plunged point first into the slat of a rib without hesitation. Pushed in as deep as Troy could thrust, it had the deathclaw bucking, its serpentine tongue flailing about as its tail swung desperately to connect with its attacker.

The victory did not last long for the alpha. The deathclaw wrenched itself away from where it was impaled, twisting around so swiftly its tail kicked up a dirt storm where Rhys had taken cover near a pile of collapsed debris. He coughed and choked, unable to see what was unfolding anymore.

“**GET BACK, REPTILIAN BRETHREN!**” came the sudden boom of a familiar voice, wrought with such commanding presence it was impossible to think anything could disobey it. “**YOU WILL HEEL! I AM THE ALPHA HERE.**”

As if someone had shut everything down with some omnipotent, cosmic switch, the noises piercing the air fell away and eventually ceased. As the dirt clouds around Rhys cleared, the omega dared to venture out of the cavern of rubble, hunching slightly to keep himself obscured.

Before him was a strange sight, but not one he was unfamiliar with. On the sidelines, Troy stood, bleeding from gashes in his chest and abdomen, coat partially shredded. In both hands, he held, if the fuel canister strapped to it was anything to go by, a homemade fire pistol of sorts, where he’d been stashing it a mystery. His finger twitched on the trigger, ready to deploy it at the slightest threat.

But the deathclaw was no longer striking a threatening stance, nor paying attention to him in general. Its body hunched, it kept its head low as it regarded the bulky form standing atop a mountain of oxidized scrap. Their hood pulled up to obscure their chassis, hatchet of jawbone raised and pointed at the reptile, Fl4k exuded utmost authority. 

“Come, beast,” they called. “Guard the pack.”

From nearby, footsteps beat through grass and across concrete, a guttural yapping filling the air. Mr. Chew crested a pile of rusted oil drums, causing an immense clatter as he toppled them over and bounded closer. He came to a stop a few feet from where the deathclaw still stood, its weight shifting from foot to foot as if it were nervous. Mr. Chew bared his jaws at it, then bent his front half low to the ground, growling low.

As if mimicking the skag’s stance, the deathclaw’s tail thumped flush to the dirt, its body lowering to all fours, gaze falling on the other creature then shifting to Fl4k.

“What the flying hell, man?” Troy found himself saying aloud, his attention snared by the scene before him. “I’ve heard of people pacifying animals and that kind of shit, but I ain’t never seen a deathclaw submit like that. What kind of robot even are you?” 

“You will not harm my pack, brother hunter,” Fl4k continued, addressing the deathclaw and ignoring Troy. “They do not match your might nor glory.”

The deathclaw snuffled. Its tongue slithered out in near slow motion, the several grunts it made sounding as if it were attempting to communicate. 

“You should remove your presence from this territory and seek out that of your brood.”

At last, the deathclaw turned away, moving as if the ground had become quicksand. Its neck swayed in Troy’s direction as it grumbled at him, but it made no further move to attack. The alpha’s body was so taut with tension that he was nearly trembling. Somehow, he kept his composure, the feeling slowly dissipating as the reptile passed him and kept moving. Soon it was making its way through tall grasses and mountainous rubble, heading onward towards the horizon. 

Troy picked up his sword from where it had fallen in the dirt, dusting off its blood flecked surface before sheathing it once more. He took a heaving breath, looked around to assess the state of the situation. 

His reprieve wouldn’t last for long. Snarling in his face, Mr. Chew reared up at him, inner teeth clacking inches from exposed flesh. Troy raised his metal arm, readying it to backhand the creature.

Fl4k was suddenly there, the teeth of their hatchet in Troy’s face.

“Enough!” they said, the authoritative inflection in their voice echoing with even more conviction than before. “God-King, I now understand why I was informed you were of a rodent lineage. You will return the packmate you have stolen from me and I will not inflict death upon you for your deception.”

“God-King?” Rhys questioned from where he had crawled from cover, using a stack of old tires to lean against as he attempted to keep upright.

Both Fl4k and Troy turned to him, the AI shuffling over to his side. They placed their hands upon him, patting him down with delicate touches.

“You were not harmed? Can you move your limbs of your own volition?”

“I feel awful,” came Rhys’ soft reply. “But I can walk. Might need a little help here and there, of course.”

“I could not acquire your medicines, Rhys.” At the statement, Fl4k’s eye narrowed to a slit, which they fixed on Troy. “I am concerned about your declination in health. We should return to our accommodations for your safety.”

Footsteps crunched in the dirt, approaching both Fl4k and Rhys. Mr. Chew growled, giving chase, blocking Troy’s path before he could reach the pair.

“Don’t even think about going back to the Rexford,” the alpha informed them. “I wasn’t kidding when I said my boss would basically turn you into his personal fuckboy. He’s been after a healthy omega for a long, _long_ time.”

“I need to attend to Rhys’ needs while he endures the duration of his mating cycle,” Fl4k insisted, positioning themself inches from Troy so that they were in his face. “I cannot perform such a task in the wastelands. And the words you have spoken to me have only been of deception. You are not a human whose suggestions I believe I should take into consideration.”

“I don’t know what happened between you two,” Rhys piped up, “But he’s an alpha, Fl4k. He can help me, if it comes down to it.”

“He made sure my presence was removed and then attempted to break up the pack. I do not doubt he has plans of a nefarious nature.”

“I was trying to fucking help. Even with the suppressors, it’s too late into his cycle. I can smell that much. You’re a goddam piece of electronic equipment. What are you gonna even do for him? You need an alpha like me to take his heat. And I’m a lot more capable than that Katagawa asshole.”

“_I_ am the alpha of this pack,” Fl4k spoke up. Though their tone remained even, it was clear they were becoming agitated. “You are an untrustworthy stranger.”

“Are ya jealous or something?” 

“Stop, please, both of you.” Rhys plodded over to them, looking haggard and despondent. “I know it’s a stupid decision. But my body is _not_ going to care how awful or not he is of a person in a few hours. If he tries anything I don’t approve of, anything that could hurt me, you have my permission to kill him.”

Inclining his head, Troy’s face was devoid of expression.

“Besides, I already tried with you, Fl4k,” Rhys went on, his worn out boot scuffing the dirt. “You know it’s not going to work out.”

“You fucked the robot?” Troy asked, looking taken aback. “Shit, man. I was only kidding about the jealousy thing.”

“That’s…it’s not relevant. I just know the more time we spend debating any of this, the less energy I have to expend. Wherever it was you were taking me, er…God-King—is that even your name?—we should get there sooner than later.”

“It’s Troy, actually. And I’m gonna make an educated guess and say you’re Rhys.”

“I do not approve of this turn of events,” Fl4k said, stroking Mr. Chew’s head, who’d returned to their side. “I think your biological components have been compromised and you are becoming prone to rash decisions.”

With a sigh, Rhys swiped at his face, which had donned a sheen of sweat beneath the glare of the sun, not to mention the frustration and exertion the situation had caused. 

“God, I know, Fl4k, I know! I don’t see any other solution right now. And—godammit, I just wish I was back home in the vault. Then I wouldn’t have to be going through this in the fucking _wastelands_ of all places. This is just so—so unfair. Why did Hugo have to fuck everything up? Dad would’ve still been alive…and…and I wouldn’t be alone, barely surviving. For almost _four years_.”

By the time the omega had come to the end of his rant, he’d run out of steam, his eyes glistening as they threatened to spill over. It was clear his emotions were in turmoil, shoving him to the brink, hormones out of control as they scattered him to the winds. His mind was increasingly fogged now, so quick to react instead of decipher. He slumped against Fl4k’s coat, clinging as if terrified that gravity would drag him down and refuse to release him.

“You will always be of my pack, Rhys.” As if sensing such was the case, Fl4k reached down, scooping the omega up in their arms like cradling some limp, empty sack. His addressment, however, was to Troy. “He is encroaching on exhaustion and dehydration. He also requires nourishment. You are not an individual I want to lead my pack. But I am to assume you have access to these requirements.”

The alpha was shaking his head, his hand passing over the wounds in his chest, coming away painted with blood. He licked them clean and nodded in a direction.

“Shamrock’s still our destination,” he said, hocking a wad of bloody spit on the ground. “Don’t go attacking the Raiders there, either. They’re on our side.”

If Fl4k could glare the way a human could, they probably would have. Instead, their chassis remained inanimate as always, only their eye reflecting their wariness.

XXX

From the outside, the Shamrock Taphouse was not at all pleasing to the eye. Windows boarded up, generally dilapidated, only the bright green door seemed to be untouched and intact. There was a man leaning outside it, hair in a buzzcut, clothing the typical worn leathers and armors of most Raider types. Rifle at his side, he swiped it up at their approach, aiming from the hip.

“Whoa, Gaff, it’s me,” came Troy’s voice as his pace didn’t falter. “Ease up there, Mr. Trigger Happy. You might blow some innocent idiot’s brains out.” 

Gaff stood down, shrugging.

“Ain’t nobody here innocent of anything,” he replied. “And any asshole stupid enough to step foot on our territory deserves a bullet between the eyes.” The man’s eyes darted to Fl4k, then to the prone Rhys in his arms, who appeared to be unaware of the world at the moment. “Why are you back so early? New recruits? Don’t tell me we’re taking in RobCo rejects now.”

“Excuse me?” Troy said, one eyebrow raised. “You wouldn’t be telling me who I can and can’t bring in to the flock now, would you?”

“Of course not. Not me.”

“Like I figured. Shame if me and my sis decided you no longer worthy of protection from Katagawa and his men.”

A glare from Gaff. There was a pointed edge to each word as he said, “Right. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. Won’t happen again.”

“Just what I love to hear.”

“Oh. And the God-Queen. She’s doing her broadcast thing and don’t want to be disturbed, not even by you.”

“Not that shit again,” Troy rolled his eyes. “If she let me write the fucking material just once, then maybe it would get people talking. But no, she’s gotta be a stubborn bitch.” 

With agitated movements, Troy left Gaff to his own devices and beckoned his companions to follow him. He almost barred Mr. Chew from proceeding, but then realized he didn’t want to deal with the consequences of that right now and shoved open the Taphouse door.

The interior was just as poorly maintained and neglected as the exterior. The door opened up into the main taproom, most of the tables flipped on their side, chairs either splintered or broken, the billiard tables the only furniture intact. There was a couple of Raiders sitting at the bar itself of both male and female persuasion, greasy and unwashed in appearance, their eyes glued to the entourage passing through the demolished room.

“Let us drink to the return of the God-King!” one of them shouted, so drunk their head was wobbling on their shoulders. It thunked down to the bar, snores rising up a moment later.

Someone smashed a bottle over their slumbering head, laughter accompanying the sound of breaking glass.

Ignoring them, Troy continued on, directing his companions up a short flight of stairs. The hallway here was better lit, doorways on either side of them. Both were locked tight to the outside world, the leftmost painted over with morbid symbols and random graffiti. Producing a key, Troy opened it.

“Put him on the mattress there,” he told Fl4k, gesturing to the mattresses piled haphazardly against a wall. “Hey, no skags in my room! Out in the hall. Get!”

Whining, Mr. Chew plopped his butt down on the hardwood floor, as if to imply that Troy’s commands meant absolutely nothing to him.

“It would be unwise to separate Rhys from my beast at this time,” Fl4k said. He let the omega down gingerly from his grasp, his seemingly boneless form slipping on to one of the mattresses, limbs a deadweight as Rhys didn’t stir. He was still only dressed in his boxers and tank top from the previous night, his visible skin a pale pink with the warmth that was engulfing him. An intense shiver roiled through him, and Fl4k removed his shoes and draped what appeared to be a relatively clean sheet over him. “They are packmates. Rhys will be comforted by the presence of Mr. Chew.”

“Rhys ain’t a goddam skag,” Troy snorted, clipping something off from his belt. It was cylindrical, wrapped in army camo canvas. “But fuck it, whatever, fine.”

The alpha snapped open the pouch, slipping out a gleaming metal hypodermic needle, the windowed portion indicating it was filled with a clear liquid. He tapped the apparatus with a surprisingly delicate touch for his robotic finger, squeezing a spurt of the liquid out. Crouching at Rhys’ side, he reached for the omega, but Fl4k grabbed him in an iron grip by the bicep and Mr. Chew snarled.

“Get off,” Troy snapped at him. “It ain’t chems. Saline nutrient solution. Good for omegas in heat.”

“How would one who is an alpha come in possession of such knowledge and the components to treat omegas?”

“I—I just know, ok? Leave it at that.”

But Fl4k did not release him, only tugging harder at his arm.

“I have had to administer treatments to Rhys in the past, and thus have a more intimate knowledge of his anatomical form.”

“Oh, I’m aware of _that_. You’re pretty much fucking him, it sounds like.”

“I do not have the proper attachments for such sexual acts with a human. And Rhys and I have proven to be incompatible.”

“Not even gonna fucking ask.”

“That would be polite of you to refrain. I think you should also allow me to administer Rhys’ injection, for the reasons we have just conversed about.”

Glancing up, Troy raked his eyes over the AI’s form, as if sizing him up for an altercation. There was the slightest twitch of his mouth. Rhys’ arm dropped from his grip as he stood and held aloft the syringe. 

“Fine. You do it, even if the guy who’s doing the injecting is, ya know, also the guy who has an extensive knowledge of liquid compounds.” 

Without further word, Fl4k took the needle, studying the way in which the liquid seemed to slosh around inside. Then they bent to flip Rhys’ arm over, palm facing upward, slipping the sharp end into the crook of his elbow and deploying the plunger.

While the AI performed the task, Troy set to rummaging through old milk crates he had stacked into makeshift shelving, full to the brim on each tier with homemade weaponry like smoke bombs and corked molotovs. He selected a flat, circular disc that fit to the size of his palm, the middle indented with a red lens. As Fl4k rose once more, Troy sauntered over, slapping them on the back as if to congratulate them.

“Nice work,” he praised, hand falling away, leaving the device attached in its wake.

“I did not do much work,” Fl4k replied. “Now that we have administered the nutrients, we should allow Rhys to re—”

The AI never made it to the end of the sentence. Snatching something from his belt that looked like a trigger device, Troy depressed it. A soft pop went off, like a shot from an air gun. There was the crackle and fizz of static, then the disc on Fl4k lit up, emitting a visible wave of electric pulse. It should have been low impact. Troy had tinkered with the device until he had concentrated its proximity effect to an individual target, for use if he wanted to deal with an electronic adversary without getting his own mechanical parts caught in the crossfire. And in a way, it worked. Most of the effects seized only the robot and nothing else of an electronic nature Troy had stashed in the room. Too late, however, he realized something must have caused slight amplification. A component in Fl4k’s wiring or structural form, maybe. The AI not being a product of RoBco or a synth was definitely an outlier that he hadn’t considered in the design of the weaponry. 

Whatever the case, he realized he’d misjudged the zone of safe deployment, feeling the shocking tingle of energy zag through his prosthetic like a vicious bite from a yao guai. It was so intense it made the muscles in his shoulder and neck strain. He felt like he was paralyzed, the agony reaching a white hot crescendo.

Even as Fl4k was crashing to the floor with an enormous cacophony, falling against another tower of milk crates and sending it toppling, the distinct sound of delicate objects smashing, Troy was screaming. He couldn’t help the noises that erupted from his chest involuntarily, first wordless, then forming a clash of consonants and vowels that ran into each other like the ball bearings that had tumbled off a shelf and were rolling all over the floorboards. 

“Ty!” he yelled out, his mechanical arm like an anchor that dragged the ground when he tried to move. “Tyreen! I need you in here. _Now._”

Mr. Chew was in a frenzy, whining and prancing around the body of his fallen packmate, whose eye had faded to a lightless hunk of fiberglass and metal. His snout pushed up against the AI’s chassis, nudging and snuffling. Claws scratched at a leg that was awkwardly bent. 

On the mattress, Rhys tried to lift his head, flopped back down after a handful of failed attempts, his eyes rolling back for a moment. Fresh drool seeped from his lips, spilling down his chin.

“How are you even resisting that shit?” Troy managed to groan, wincing as a spasm slipped along his vertebrae with constricting coils, bringing him to his knees. He managed to fall to only one, the other leg bracing him in an inconvenient position. Through gritted teeth, he spat out a directionless, “_Motherfucker._”

Footsteps approached the open doorway, sending the floorboards shaking as if someone were stomping with all their weight. The snort that rang out was like gunshot.

“What the fuck am I even looking at here?” the voice of his sister asked, Tyreen’s petite form stepping into the room a moment later. “Is this seriously the shit you interrupt me with?” Her eyes darted around the room. “A broken down assaultron, some dumbass skag, and a strung out junkie….” She stopped, trailing off, her eyes widening as they fell on Rhys, scarred nose wrinkling, nostrils flaring. Nails painted over in chipped black reached up to push the pair of faded headphones from her head to down around her neck. “Hooooly fuck, Troy. This place _reeks_. Is he what I think he is?”

Without waiting for an answer from her brother, who was gasping for breath as he fought to right himself, she clomped over to Rhys’ prone body. In a handwoven leather and cloth corset top, cutoff shorts and stockings that were so ripped and torn they offered barely any cover of skin, the female Calypso was an intimidating sight. Her shear badassery was only accented further by the smoky, dark make-up blacking out her eyes under a shock of bleached hair and the spiraling blue network of a tattoo that ran along her arm. It disappeared beneath her clothing only to appear in splashes of color in the patches of missing stocking. She scratched along the side of her calf with the opposite armored combat boot as she regarded the stranger.

“The hell is this?” Tyreen lowered into a crouch, fingers pinching the skin of Rhys’ inked neck and yanking. “Some kind of weird branding? And did you see the mint condition of his Pip Boy? You must be going crazy right now. How’d fresh vault meat like this even let you come near him?”

“Dammit, Ty,” Troy growled at her. “Will you stop worrying about the omega and come help me?”

“What you need help with?” Her smirk was subtle, eyes dancing with mischief. “You look perfectly fine to me.”

From his place on the bed, Rhys reached up, grabbing a hold of Tyreen’s bare arm. Eyes managing to focus, albeit only partially open, he pulled himself up just enough to press his nose to her smooth skin. She tried to pull away, but he held fast, confusion twisting his expression.

“Y…you’re….” Barely able to speak, Rhys inhaled deep, the sound audible. “Omega?”

Fury lent Tyreen strength. She ripped her arm out of Rhys’ grasp, rounding on Troy.

“_How_ the hell can he smell that?” she demanded of her brother. “Have you been fucking with my chem formula? I swear, Troy, if you did _anything_ to sabotage my shit and people find out I’m not a damn beta, I’ll cut off your alpha pride and make you choke on it.”

“Don’t be so goddam paranoid,” Troy spit out, growling as he found his footing. He grabbed at his mechanical arm, using all his strength to lift it up as he unfurled, but not to his full height. Hunched over with his limp prosthetic weighing him down, he leaned against the wall and glared at her. “It’s probably just cos he’s an omega too. Or maybe his wires got crossed cos of the shit I gave him.”

“And what did you give him?” Tyreen’s hand wrapped around the blocky structure of Troy’s metal forearm, her fingers only meeting halfway around as she lifted it for a second before letting it flop back down. “Jesus. Did you accidentally set off one of your EMPs again?”

“I miscalculated some things dealing with _that._” He gestured to Fl4k, who was still slumped in a pile on the floor. “And it’s mostly just one part Med-X to a bunch of Smooch. Some Dad-O extract thrown in to get him placid as a lake.”

Tyreen narrowed her eyes at her brother, brows drawn down sharply.

“He’s on the verge of a heat, Ty.” Troy glanced over at Rhys, who seemed to finally be succumbing to the effects of the liquid in his veins, if his even breathing and closed eyes was anything to go by. “You know by the smell I ain’t lying to you, and that it’s too late for suppressors. This will at least keep him subdued.”

“Ugh, you’re such a gross knothead sometimes. What if some strange alpha did this to _me_?”

“Then I’d kill ‘em. This is different. It was either I got to Rhys first, or Katagawa found out about him. You know what he’d do to an omega in heat.”

“And what exactly are you gonna do differently? Go on, I’ll wait for you to tell me.”

Troy closed his eyes, sighing. He took a step or two forward, edging closer to where Fl4k lay on the floor, his arm making him shudder as it made scraping noises where it dragged.

“Just help me with this thing. I only have a few hours before that EMP wears off, and I need it out of my hair before then.”

Sighing and rolling her eyes, blowing her fringe out of them, Tyreen said, “_Fine_. I guess I’ll have to take pity, you being my dumb, crippled, gimpy-ass bro who needs me for, like, everything in his life.”

“I’m none of those things and you know it.”

“Sure, Troy, sure. So, what’s the plan? We scrapping it for spare parts or are you gonna make another attempt at robo-brain washing?”

“Neither.” Troy used his one functioning hand to heft the network of rusted chains from around his neck and toss them to her feet, the heavy alloy making a deafening rattle as they fell. Rhys flinched but didn’t open his eyes. “I just want it chained up and secured for now. I don’t know if the omega would be receptive if we went tearing apart his machine.”

As Tyreen regarded both the robot and chains at her feet, Mr. Chew swiveled in her direction. He’d trotted over to Rhys’ side earlier, licking and covering him in slobber as he made an attempt to comfort him. Now he lifted his head to full height, a soft growl curling from the depths of his throat as his gaze settled on the female Calypso.

“Ah, shit,” Troy grumbled. “I forgot about the stupid skag. We should tie him up outside, leave ‘im with Gaff. Just make sure you don’t get bit. I don’t wanna have to shoot you up with rabies vax or nothing.”

“Pretty sure he doesn’t have rabies, numbnuts.” 

Tyreen’s hands fiddled with her array of belts, some loaded with strands of ammo, others fitted with storage pouches. From one of the latter she removed a small ration wrapped in cellophane, breaking it open with a distinct pop. The bite sized cake tumbled to her palm and she held it out towards Mr. Chew. The skag was rigid, hesitant as it regarded the food. It trotted over to sniff furiously at Tyreen’s hand. Then, vertical jaws gaping, it snatched the treat away with its tongue, drooling as it swallowed it in one bite. Claws scratched against the floorboards as Mr. Chew bounced in place several times. A small hand came down on his head, patting him. 

“See, he was just hungry,” Tyreen told her brother. “Good boy. I bet you want another one, huh?”

“I’m not cleaning up skag vomit if he gets sick,” Troy said as she removed another cake from her accessories and fed it to the creature. 

“Don’t be jealous just because he likes me better.”

“I don’t give a shit what dumb animal you made friends with. Can we _please_ just get on with this?”

That seemed to get things moving. Dusting her hands off of cake crumbs, Tyreen was able to lead Mr. Chew away with the promise of more treats, leaving him outside in the hands of Gaff, who assured her he’d _take fine care of the ugly mutt._ Considering Mr. Chew pissed on the Raider’s leg not but a moment later, Tyreen couldn’t help but feel there was a certain sentience the skag possessed.

That, and it gave her a mighty good laugh. She left a cursing Gaff and prancing Mr. Chew behind with a spring in her step.

Back in Troy’s room, Rhys was now curled up under his sheet and snoring deeply, his body so lanky that his feet poked out from beneath it. With minute shudders running through his body, his smell had become weighted, almost tangible; probably heavenly and mentally debilitating all at once to her brother. But to her, just a nuisance. The scents of other omegas were the equivalent of competition in Tyreen’s mind, as it was to the majority of her ilk. She _definitely_ had no desire to compete with Rhys, considering his role here, which took the edge off what would have otherwise been blatant aggression towards him. She couldn’t help but wonder, though, what he was going to act like towards _her_, once he regained consciousness. Some omegas were rather exasperating when they thought they had to jockey for position. She’d had to put one in their place before. Which meant leaving them broken and bleeding, on the brink of death.

Of course, that had been one of the only three other omegas she’d ever met. Now here was a fourth, and though it wasn’t the first one her brother had shacked up with for a heat, she had her concerns. Mostly because of the circumstances.

At some point, Troy had managed to pull himself over to the faded, threadbare loveseat in the room, as he was sprawled out on its deep maroon cushions. His eyes were narrowed to slits, focused on Rhys, not even glancing at her as she wound Troy’s chains around Fl4k in a secure knot and tied the tail ends to an old radiator. Grabbing up a few tools from where they had scattered on the floor, she flopped down next to her brother.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asked, tugging at his coat so that it partially slipped off of him, poking the newly acquired scratch marks in it before shrugging to herself. His spinal rig exposed, her fingers found the one upper plate that didn’t completely interlock with the rest, working a tool under the panel there and prying it up to expose a miniature web of wiring. “You gonna fuck this omega into blissful oblivion for a week and than coerce him into leading us to the vault he came from? Because _damn_. Anymore Vault-Tec stuff like that lying around there, and we can ditch Katagawa. People get like dumbasses over that pre-war garbage.”

A notched Allen key was taken between Tyreen’s fingers, the end filed to an uncharacteristic thinness. She fitted it into a small pinpoint hole in Troy’s spinal structure.

“Huh, what?” Troy asked her, blinking in slow motion.

Suddenly, his teeth almost came down upon his tongue as something akin to a massive cramp seized his spine. 

“Wow, Troy. Do I have to worry about you going into rut or what?”

“No. Don’t be an ass. It’s just Rhys’ heat scent.”

Pulling the key out, Tyreen lined it up with the indentation beneath the first hole, shoving it back in with force and twisting it. Her brother grunted, almost bucking her off in the process, the muscles in his back and left shoulder twitching and pulsing as if she’d just taken a live wire to them.

“That’s what I’m worried about. I’m not picking up your goddam slack _all week_ cos you’re too hyper-focused on being balls deep in omega ass and beating the shit out of anyone who looks at you funny.”

“When has that ever even happened?” Troy said through gritted teeth. “And could you be gentler? That’s my circuitry you’re abusing.”

The Allen key set aside, his sister pressed her thumbs into a pair of hidden divots in the spinal plating. _Hard_. Troy yowled as the LEDs in his mechanical infrastructure illuminated all at once, the sounds of metal parts whirring and coming to life distinct. His robotic fingers twitched a few times, then his entire shoulder socket pivoted, allowing him to lift his arm to examine it.

“And you said I was a shitty tinkerer,” Tyreen said to him. “Got you working good as new, though, don’t I?”

“You aren’t shitty.” Troy dug his fingers into the back of his neck and shoulder, working out the tension there. “I’d never say that.”

“Funny. Cos I remember you being all like,” her voice dropped several octaves to mock him, “_What did I tell you about trying to fix your radio equipment yourself, Ty? You just don’t have my delicate touch not to end up breaking it more_.”

Troy scowled and looked away, “That’s not the same.”

“It’s not?” Grabbing him under the jaw, squeezing his cheeks as she made him turn his head towards her, the tone she took up was saccharine. “Oh, bro. You’re just like every other alpha I’ve ever met: a complete parasite underestimating the very omega counterparts they leech off of.” 

“That’s not the way it is at all. We’re, like, supposed to go together. For balance, and survival, and shit.”

“And yet you drugged up an omega so that he wouldn’t freak about a strange alpha he doesn’t know taking his heat.” 

She withdrew, then, rising from the couch cushion, her nails leaving behind half-moon crescents in his skin.

“Why are you being such a bitch?” He growled low, furiously, his fingers snarling in his hair and shoving it off his brow. Beneath it, his eyes were pinpoints, wild. “Should I just sit here and let him suffer a heat without any relief? Cos it sure sounds like that’s what you’re telling me to do.”

“Fuck if I know.” Tyreen heaved one shoulder in a shrug, then gave a chuckle. “Maybe I just like griefing you. Keeps you in your place. Besides, I helped you, didn’t I? I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t care about you, baby bro.”

“Technically, I was born the same time as you were.”

“Ha, suuuure.” Flipping her hair out of her face, she began to make her way towards the door. “You totally weren’t some weird mutant growth or nothing. That was just a freaky _story_ dad made up about you. Nothing to do with nuclear mutations.”

Troy stuck his middle finger up in her direction, “Still doesn’t change the fact that we’re equals.”

“Keep dreaming. Anyway, have fun with your little omega project there. Don’t come bothering me unless you plan to use him to our advantage. Oh, and I guess I can help out if you got an emergency. Just F-Y-I: getting your knot stuck in him too long? _Not_ an emergency.”

“Ew, Ty, really?”

His sister’s laugh was hardy enough to fill the room. Flipping him a wave, she turned her back on him and disappeared down the hall.


	4. The Serpent's Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys' heat finally hits him full force. Troy uses his alpha prowess to assist him with the matter.

By nightfall, Troy hadn’t run into his sister again. She’d locked herself in her room. He could hear the sound of the radio drifting faintly through the door, the raspy zingers from what sounded like some elderly man interspersed with static and jazz notes that were barely audible. As she was probably busy penning her next radio broadcast, he saw no reason to disturb her, the note they had left each other on still sour. Instead he threw himself into tasks that needed tending to around the Shamrock. Water drums were stacked together, waiting to be run through the purifier, which he set some folk to handle. Some of the Raiders had also stolen a brahmin from a settlement and had slaughtered it for the meat. Most of it would be seasoned, cut, and cooked to be stored as jerky, but the rest he could let the Shamrock’s residents roast for a hearty evening supper. It had been awhile since dinner or any meal didn’t consist of something from a box or can.

After he ate and washed the tough and stringy but filling meal down with a couple of Colas, some of the Raiders got a poker game going and passed around an inhaler full of Jet. Troy declined both, retiring to his room. Nobody there dared questioned him as to why.

Still chained to the radiator, Fl4k hadn’t yet powered back up. Their singular lens remained closed, the lights on their chassis still dark. Troy had to step over them to pry open a window, the sound of the wooden frame creaking as it slid upward causing Rhys to stir. His omega scent was cloying now, seeming to adhere itself to the very molecules in the room. With the door closed, Troy felt almost like it was trying to crawl down his throat and suffocate him. His breaths were shallow for fear that if he breathed in too deeply, he’d be swept up in its tide. 

“Where are…,” he heard Rhys murmur, his eyes barely open a crack, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. “Are Fl4k…Mr. Chew.”

The only reason Troy knew Rhys could probably even think straight to ask such a question was the drugs he’d pumped into the omega’s system. They kept him free of the initial delirium of a heat, though their effects wouldn’t last forever, and that didn’t stop them from making Rhys disoriented. When it came time to deal with those factors, he would. For now, he crouched, turning Rhys’ wrist so he could read the body temperature displayed on his Pip Boy. It hadn’t shifted all that much, was still high. Troy unlatched his canteen from his belt, which was full to the brim with some of the water he’d had purified earlier. It was uncapped, the liquid poured into Rhys’ open mouth. Thankfully, the omega had enough wits about him to start swallowing before he choked.

“Skag’s alright. I checked on him a bit ago. Your robot pal’s doing just fine, too,” Troy said in a curt manner. “Wires got crossed or whatever. He’ll be back in commission in no time.”

Shifting to throw the sheet placed upon him off, Rhys wet his lips, voice still weak but coherent. “Not a robot, and not a ‘he’.”

Troy didn’t seem very moved by the information, his bare shoulder heaving in a shrug. Without the sheet covering him, Rhys’ scent seemed to permeate the room even further, even though, in reality, it couldn’t be that much worse. The alpha’s brain was just exaggerating what his olfactory senses were experiencing because of how long it’d been since he’d been near an omega. Had to be that. The window was open, and Troy wasn’t a greenhorn. Being merely around an omega in heat shouldn’t have him warring with rationality to curb his instincts. Learning to cull his alpha nature had been one of the first disciplines he’d learned when he’d presented. Especially with the disaster of Tyreen presenting as an omega, and the blow to her pride it had dealt.

Despite everything, Troy found himself dropping to his knees and leaning in, burying his nose in Rhys’ neck and getting a lungful. Skin coated in a faint sheen of sweat, he still smelled enticing, the sweet scent pinpointed to sugar in Troy’s mind. Honey, as well, and a more mechanical edge underlying it all, like a heady kind of oil. Rhys’ scent was more refined than other omegas Troy had met. It was likely derived from his origins as a child of the vaults, that omega lineage pure, unblemished by stray genetics and nuclear exposure.

There was a moment where Rhys shifted beneath him and he thought the omega, fed up with his forward behavior, might try to push him away. But the smaller man just sighed. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, Troy. When he did, he let it out in a rush, returning to nuzzling Rhys like a leech to its prey.

“Didn’t think I’d be this aware when a heat finally hit,” Rhys mused, giving a curt laugh. “Or calm. Why am I so calm? This isn’t…this isn’t what they said it’d be like. Back in the vault.”

That gave Troy room to pause. He drew back, fringe of hair flopping over his face as his eyebrows hiked into his hair.

“Wait, what are you saying?” he asked, a queasy sensation rising in his gorge. “How old are you?”

“Twenty,” Rhys said after a long pause, his eyes closing. “Almost.”

“And you’ve never had a heat before?” Troy sounded bewildered and incredulous all that once. “How long you been on suppressors?”

“Little after fifteen. Had enough to last me in the Commonwealth awhile. Till now. Can we…stop talking.” Rhys cracked one eye open, his breathing uneven. “I Just…I could really use your help with this.”

“With what?”

Groaning in what Troy could only assume was frustration, Rhys gestured to the obvious tenting in his boxers. 

“Do I have to coerce you?” he asked, pushing himself upward.

“N-no.” Growling at how the situation was effecting him, Troy stopped the omega from closing the distance between them with a hand to his chest. Heat radiated through Rhys’ tank top, the sensation setting things in the alpha’s groin stirring. Too gruffly, he asked, “Have you ever even been with an alpha?”

“Once. Does it matter?”

With the omega in the state he was in, receptive to any advances Troy made, it didn’t. But it was possible for omegas to perish during heats, if either alpha or omega was inexperienced or negligent. As rancid as his reputation could be around the areas surrounding Goodneighbor, Troy didn’t want omega blood on his hands. That was a black mark the twins would have a hard time scrubbing off.

And if word ever got out about it, Katagawa would have Troy hunted down and castrated without losing an ounce of sleep. The older alpha was already on the sociopathic scale in his business dealings. When it came to omega affairs, however, he went the extra mile to be cruel and ruthless. As far as his boss was concerned, you were muddying the gene pool when you harmed an omega, culling the lineage by damaging the breeding stock. It would’ve been a noble standing, if the ideal wasn’t sullied by being steeped in subjugation.

“Nah, guess not,” Troy finally said, realizing he’d left Rhys hanging. His mechanical hand shifted as he settled it out of the way, his flesh fingers stroking down Rhys’ front, reaching the hem of his shirt. “I’m gonna make things easier, put you on your stomach. Alright?”

If the omega was ready to protest, it never happened. Rhys rolled with the momentum, limbs falling haphazardly and settling where they lie.

“I feel like a sack of wet cement,” he commented, then snorted. “If cement could be sexually frustrated.”

A hand came down on the small of Rhys’ back, patting him. His hips were lifted just high enough for Troy to work down his underwear, the material dampened to the touch. When the alpha tugged them past the curve of his ass, the material stuck fast, as if it were adhesive that he had to peel off.

“Shit,” Troy drawled, all but assaulted with omega musk and the telltale, heady odor of slick. 

Unable to resist, he gripped one of Rhys’ ass cheeks, his metal touch rough as he pried it away from the other. It was so quiet in the room he could hear Rhys swallow, the sound accompanied by a quick, sharp hum from between his closed lips as Troy’s thumb found his entrance. The alpha applied pressure, feeling the muscles part around the tip and draw him in with ease. Tacky and viscous heat closed around his skin, and he started driving in deeper before he realized what he was doing and drew away as if burned. Thumb promptly stuck between his lips, he sucked the omega’s essence from his own skin until he was balancing precariously on a razor’s edge.

“Fucking hell. Sorry, man,” he rasped, feeling sheepish, patience straining beneath its tethers. Against the material of his pants, he could feel how aroused he’d become in so short a time, his hardening length pulling them tight. It caused a sweet type of friction, the sensation stopping him from removing them entirely. “Lemme just…can—can I eat your ass?”

Beneath him, the omega was quivering, as if he were bare naked in the midst of a nuclear winter. Troy knew he wasn’t cold, that even with the window open the room still felt stifling. Maybe that was just the heat radiating off the omega alone, blasting like a furnace and causing him to sweat without a modicum of effort. Eventually Rhys nodded; just the barest movement of his head, but it was consent.

He might not have been an actual member of the serpent species, but Troy moved like one, darting in for the kill. Hiking Rhys’ tank top up, he pushed the omega’s boxers down even further till they were around his knees and barring him from much movement. His tongue struck out, battering Rhys’ hole with a dexterous flick, slick scooped up in its coiling embrace. The taste seemed to melt Troy from the inside, his dick pulsing, spine bowing with pleasure. Rhys made a high pitched sound like a wounded animal calling out in the middle of the night, though it was far from a noise of distress, and Troy sealed his lips against skin, sucking in gentle waves. 

From the pit of Rhys’ lust, a moan was dredged. His hips rolled, his arm reaching behind him to grab blindly at Troy, grasping a few strands of hair briefly before his hand fell away, weak and useless. The alpha pierced Rhys’ entrance, the wide expanse of his tongue spreading him open, rewarded with more of the omega’s unique flavor. Drool mixed with slick, Troy unable to stop the surge of desire that clawed and bit to match Rhys’ own, the alpha getting sloppy as the omega squirmed with the most delicious of whimpers.

“I can’t—oh fuck,” Rhys panted, stumbling over his words, sounding on the verge of hysteria. “I’m close.”

That only spurred Troy to double his efforts. Wriggling his tongue, he drove it as deep as it would go, Rhys’ quiet noises becoming boisterous. The omega’s muscles seized as if he’d been struck by lightning, and in that moment he knew Rhys was cumming, his breathing rapid and erratic. Still, Troy kept himself latched on, the rush of new slick against his tongue irresistible. Rhys mewled and shifted back against him, obviously not wanting him to pull away, either. But eventually Troy’s jaw started to ache and his tongue grew lazy and sore. He was forced to withdraw, Rhys already whining for his return. His lips and chin shiny, Troy wiped his face with his arm, flopping down beside the omega.

“You good for more?” he asked, faint hint of a smirk emerging as his hair stubbornly curtained across his face again. “Wanna take a breather?”

The omega craned his neck to stare at him, the brown of his irises swallowed up in the depths of pupil. Though he looked almost afraid to say anything, Troy knew that wasn’t the case.

“I’ll kill you if you don’t keep going,” he said with some effort.

“Hmmm? That so?” This time the grin on Troy’s face was more obvious. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t ya?” 

“Please don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m not,” Troy said, truth binding his words like steel. 

His hand reached for his belt, working it open and his zipper down, releasing the pressure of his pants. The material loosened around his erection, both a relief and something he would sorely miss. There were, however, more enticing places to yearn for; ones that were eager for him. Before slipping his pants down and kicking them off, Troy removed a Jimmy Hat brand condom from his utility pouch, the red foil packaging glinting in the moonlight streaming through the window. He went to unwrap it, a hand bumping into his forearm, fingers scrabbling at his skin.

“Don’t need it,” Rhys told him.

“Sorry, ain’t happening. No omega—even a cute and fierce one—in the whole Commonwealth is worth risking a goddam nother mouth to feed.”

“Don’t. Need it. Trust me.”

A pained expression came to pass across Rhys’ face, the distress evident in his gaze. For a few solid moments, melancholy seemed to creep into the space between them. Troy was smart enough to know when not to pry, though his curiosity was piqued now. Setting the condom aside, he nodded. If the omega wanted him bareback, craved that skin to skin contact so badly, he’d oblige him. That was his duty, as the alpha claiming his heat, wasn’t it?

Rhys kicked his underwear the rest of the way down and rolled on to his side, pushing back against Troy as if he were an affectionate cat. His warmth seemed to radiate through the alpha’s chest, like the sun at its zenith beating down on bare flesh. Neck arched just right, the taller man was treated to an eyeful of tattoo, the strange circular shape traced with his tongue. Taste and smell combined to draw Troy’s mouth on a path to the top of Rhys’ spine. He wrapped his arm around the other man’s chest, drawing him closer. 

The cleft of Rhys’ backside brushed his cock. It was the slightest touch, but it seemed to turn them both desperate. Rhys undulated against him, the velvet skin of Troy’s hefty, rigid shaft slipping against the silken curvature of his ass and less seductive areas like his tail bone. The omega growled at him, forgetting, in his lusts, that he still had functional hands and arms. As if in a trance, Troy remained nuzzling at the back of his neck, scenting him as was guided by the quickened pulse beating just beneath the bonding site. Like the lure of a snake charm, it called for him to sink his plated canines in, drive them deep until he tasted copper and made Rhys _his_ omega and only his.

Thankfully, he had enough wits left not to succumb. He didn’t want to deal with that kind of commitment. Not now, and probably never. 

Desperate fingers found his shaft. Rhys had remembered how to use his appendages. Though his dick was on the larger side even for an alpha, it didn’t dwarf the omega’s hand. For one of his kind, Rhys was unnaturally built. He wasn’t petite, instead gangly where he should’ve been more compact, as if nature had designed him one way—perhaps as a beta or even an alpha—and then decided against it at the last possible moment.

There was a sharp tug at Troy’s groin. Hissing, he knew the omega was growing increasingly more impatient. As were his own desires. Not wanting to continue this torture of either of them, he hooked his leg around Rhys’ entwining them to keep the omega grounded and give himself leverage. As tall as he was, they seemed to lock together harmoniously, and he clamped his hand over where Rhys was gripping his cock and guided it properly to the omega’s hole. Even with the earlier rimjob, Rhys was drenched, the clear liquid glistening against the backs of his thighs. It was more than enough for him to not to have to struggle to take the alpha’s cock, no preparation required. The head slipped inside, almost with obscene ease, Rhys shuddering around him as Troy didn’t hesitate to drive himself deeper. Soon enough he was hilting, the feeling of being fully sheathed within the omega too much and not enough all at once. 

It had been a long time since he’d found himself in bed with an omega. Way too long. And Rhys was getting even more worked up, wordlessly begging for Troy to fuck him without abandon. At last the smaller man seemed to grow frustrated enough to do something about it, growling as he shoved backward, trying to hopelessly impale himself further.

Not able to help himself, Troy chuckled.

“Wow, you’re like a hungry deathclaw hatchling, aren’t ya? Calm down, eh. Do I seem like the type of alpha that’s gonna sit here and expect you to do all the work?” 

“I don’t know,” Rhys replied, his words biting. “It isn’t exactly like you’re doing anything right now.”

“Oh?” His hand trailing downward along the flat expanse of Rhys’ abdomen, he reached his groin, grasping his dick, which had remained erect. It was spattered with cum, the fluid making for smooth friction as he slid his fingers along the shaft. “Is this what you call not doing anything?”

Gasping, Rhys shot back with, “Yup.”

The grip of his fingers shifting to the full use of his palm, he stroked the omega idly, using his hold to draw himself back, nearly pulling out of Rhys entirely. He could feel the omega growing even more restless, deciding to let him fret a moment longer before slipping back inside. The sudden return of the warmth and constriction was like a shock to his system. Not that he was worried about shorting his mechanical parts out again. There’d be no more freak accidents, if he could help it. He let out a guttural moan, finding himself caught under the swing of the proverbial sledgehammer, pleasure driving him to slam himself back in the rest of the way. The jarring movement caused Rhys to clench around him, the choking confines of the omega’s body causing Troy to already pant.

“How about now?” he managed to say between breaths. 

“_Now_ you’re just being manipulative. Can you move already or something? You—you can’t knot me at the pace you’re going.”

“I know omegas are pretty needy during a heat and all, but you’re being kind of extra.”

There was a sigh from Rhys, which ended in a high pitched noise. 

“I’m sorry. I—I’m not usually this pushy. Or…controlling.” A desperate, humorless laugh escaped him. “First heat and all. It’s kind of overwhelming, you know? I’ll try—”

Before Rhys could keep up the rambling apology, Troy angled his hips back, feeling the omega’s inner walls grasp at him as if he were a fleeing lover. In another breath, he was pushing back inside, grunting even as Rhys’ ability to think straight was pilfered. The words fell away, fading to nothingness, and he was left with only moans passing from his lips even as the alpha worked himself into a more steady rhythm. 

“What if I said I like it?” Troy eventually got out, pulling himself back from the brink of mindless bliss.

Of course, Rhys didn’t answer him, didn’t have the breath for it. The alpha thrust against him with as much force as he could in their position, the slap of skin echoing as their bodies collided. Teeth sunk into the soft, thin flesh of the omega’s shoulder, the thrill of dominance tangling with instinct for Troy. Within seconds his pulse was racing, his desire taking flight as if it had been previously plateauing. He was glad they had not taken up a position more enticing to his nature, otherwise he may have let slip his already unstable control and let his aggression unfurl, caring not for the omega’s relief, but for his own.

It had happened once before. But, to his credit, only once, during the first heat he’d ever claimed. 

“D—don’t you dare—,” he heard Rhys stammer, throat working to force the words out. “Don’t stop. Please. I need this—.”

The omega ended in a frustrated noise, which only served to stoke the flames crawling under Troy’s flesh. His hips rolled, Rhys hitting all the right notes with the noises he made as Troy’s cock battered his prostate. The hand stroking the omega’s dick shifted, kneading at his balls. The alpha could feel the rising tide of orgasm creeping up on him, refusing to slow his movements even as the base of his cock swelled with the first stirrings of his knot. 

“Shit,” Troy heard himself drawling, as if his mind were detached from the tasks his body performed. “You ready, Rhys? My knot’s gonna feel so fucking good in you, I bet. You’ll never want any other alpha again.”

“Please,” the omega repeated, voice catching as he begged. “Just—Oh, god. Just keep going.”

As the bulbous knot expanded, it began to catch on the muscled ring of Rhys’ ass, causing a significant amount of drag that forced Troy’s muscles taut as he had to work harder. Sweat rolled off his skin, so thick on him that he could taste it on his lips. Breathless sounds were choked off—it was almost impossible to tell who they were coming from at this point—as he finally reached his pinnacle, one last plunge of his hips lodging his cock inside the omega, his knot now huge and cumbersome. The throbbing in Troy’s shaft had them both moaning, sending the alpha’s body shivering as he unleashed the first torrent of cum deep inside Rhys.

“Troy,” Rhys called out, voice ending on a rising note as if he were about to say more. A gasp escaped him instead, coming a fraction of a second before he let out a lazy moan, his body stretching like a bowstring. “That’s…jeez. It’s too much. Why are you so damn big?”

“Heh, you’re just loving that fact, though, aren’t you? I can tell. How’s your second alpha compared to your first? Pretty fucking hotter, I bet. I mean, you’re just taking it like a champ and everything.” There was a deep sigh from Troy, his knot shifting and tugging as his hips squirmed in place. Rhys unleashed guttural sounds, his body spasming erratically around the alpha, control melting away in those moments. “Keep that up, and you’ll be stuck on my knot all week. Not that you won’t be, anyway.” 

“Don’t tease me, godammit.” 

His hand scrambling blindly, Rhys searched out the solid weight behind him. He managed to get a tuft of Troy’s hair, clinging to it, yanking until the alpha let our a small yowl. 

Warm jism coated Troy’s hand as a second orgasm overtook the omega, his cock remaining stiff and flushed even after it gave its last twitch. The feel of muscles pulsing around Troy milked him for everything he had, another propulsion of his seed flooding the smaller man.

He could no longer tell if the sounds Rhys were making were blissful, pained, or from shear exhaustion. Maybe all of the above. Wasn’t like he could do anything to ease the situation if it was the latter two at this point, anyway, his knot not about to budge, and Rhys involuntarily latched to him.

Eventually, Rhys began to fidget as if he’d eaten an entire box of Sugar Bombs on his lonesome. Troy shifted his arm to keep him still.

“Hey, come on, relax,” he hissed, having come down a bit from lust-fueled euphoria. Gnashing his teeth, he caught the shell of the omega’s ear. “The more ya keep doing that, the longer we’ll be stuck like this.”

Rhys huffed, flexing around Troy, the alpha gripped by the intensity to the point it squeezed a sharp gasp from him. He hadn’t even stopped cumming yet. Not entirely. And still the omega wanted more.

“S’fine,” he heard Rhys murmur, the words slurred. “S’what I want. You’ll just have to endure it.”

It was Troy’s turn to sigh. Nuzzling the other man’s hair, imbibing his scent as it mixed with the added elements of sweat and sex, he traced a path to the bonding site, licking at it. On instinct, Rhys bowed his head, bearing the skin to the alpha.

Troy hummed, “Maybe we should stay away from messing with that, actually,” to which Rhys just huffed again in response. 

They lay like that for awhile, Troy peppering Rhys with nips and licks, like an affectionate but exhausted puppy. The omega seemed to eat it up, murmuring nonsense on occasion that sounded like the start of words but never followed through. His dick had flagged after a bit, probably in accordance with the chems in his system. If he hadn’t been under the influence, he may have gone on for much longer, demanded Troy’s knot more than the one time. Like this, things were manageable.

They wouldn’t be for long. This was only the beginning.

His breath evening out, Rhys’ eyes closed and didn’t flutter open again. When the snores eventually came, Troy was still tied to him. In the face of lacking stimulation, he could sense his knot withering, the wiggle room inside the omega suddenly looser.

Soon, the alpha had enough give to pry himself away. With it came a flood of his semen, seeping out with seemingly no end. The pearly white fluid slipped down the crevice of Rhys’ ass, covering his balls and thighs, the skin beneath barely visible as it dripped even more on to the mattress. Troy’s own groin was coated, his nostrils flaring at the heaviness of his own smell. He needed to clean up before this shit dried all over them. Using his mechanical arm, which felt stiff with disuse, he pushed himself upward, getting to his knees. Rhys barely even stirred, only adjusting himself slightly. 

When Troy looked to where he’d left Fl4k, the machine’s head was tilted, their one glowing eye staring blatantly at him. The eye shifted to Troy’s groin and lingered there, the lens narrowing to a thin strip.

“Rhys made a specific request of me,” Fl4k finally spoke up. “And since I believe you are in violation of it, I have to oblige him. I will make your death last until he is pleased with my methods.”

“Are you actually threatening me?” Troy asked, snatching a piece of linen from a pile. It was clean enough to swath at himself and get some of the excess jism off. “Think it over. I’m gonna wash up.”

The alpha snatched a pair of underwear form an open chest drawer and left the room. Soon enough pipes began to groan, accompanied by the sounds of water running not far off. Troy took a moment to examine himself in the bathroom mirror. Honestly, he was a bit of a mess, the fringe of his hair in disarray, cum still clinging to his groin, wounds having stopped bleeding quickly but still red and jagged. They would probably leave scars, though thankfully would not mar the ink work of his tattoos. He touched them gingerly, wincing. There was a dosage of Rebound he kept stashed in the vanity, the flask that stored it full of the chem. He jabbed the needle into a vein, then sat down on the toilet, hearing it creak under his weight.

Now it was only a matter of waiting. Soon enough, he felt rejuvenated, invigorating. The concoction was amazing for healing. But in the process, it could make you feel omnipotent; like a god; a god with a budding addictive habit. He started a bath, climbing in to the lukewarm water before it could get hot and even fill the clawfooted tub. His mechanical arm hung over the rim, out of the way, as the water massaged his muscles. In only a few short minutes, chems in his system working in accordance, he was feeling ready to go another several rounds with Rhys, if the omega desired it. Though it concerned him what he’d end up feeling like when he crashed.

After he’d dried himself off and put on the fresh underwear, Troy ran a cloth under the sink. He returned to his room with a plate piled high with the leftover roast brahmin and a few canisters of water. As he put them aside, Fl4k watched him, appearing to not have fought against their chains. Odd, but that suited Troy just fine. Even though the omega was bound to get messy again, the alpha set to the task of cleaning him off, using the cloth to run along his intimate parts. Troy didn’t really enjoy this part of a heat. Something that controlled his primordial instincts preferred the omega marked with his seed. It made him feel like Rhys belonged to him, at least for a few days. Not that he’d changed his mind about claiming an omega for his own. No strings attached, no commitment dangling above him, threatening to sever his head from his neck. It had never been what he wanted from taking an omega’s heat, and it still wasn’t now.

Plus the smell of their mingled scents permeating the room was just…god, it was tangible. Troy could drown in it. 

Rhys leaned into the touch of the cloth, murmuring something unintelligible in his sleep. A soft noise of pleasure crept from him, but he didn’t awaken.

“I am not threatening you,” Fl4k said at last, startling Troy. He looked over, perturbed. “I am merely expressing Rhys’ initial request. Though I have reason to believe it may have undergone changes.”

“Look, robot.” Remembering what Rhys had mentioned, he shook his head. “Whatever you are. This is, ya know, fucking alpha and omega stuff. We’re just following basic instincts here.”

“Instincts you have manipulated to your advantage. Just as you manipulated me to separate from my pack on a journey that did not come to fruition. You have exploited my packmate’s condition and desperation. I am to assume what you have injected in him was not nutrients, considering he does not seem rejuvenated and you have been deceptive about everything so far.”

Moving into a sitting position, long legs spread out, Troy shrugged. 

“Yeah, well, you’re not _wrong_. Speaking of separating, how the hell did you find us anyway?”

“My beast is a successful hunter and tracker. It was not difficult for him to pursue Rhys’ scent.” A pause, Fl4k’s tone dipping into something aggressive. “What have you done with my beast? I do not see evidence of his presence.”

“Don’t worry, he’s with one of our Raiders. Safe, for now. Neither the skag or you was gonna let me get near Rhys. Had to get you both out of the picture. Nothing personal.” 

“That would be the truth you speak. However, my reasons are noble. I am to protect my pack, and Rhys would not haven chosen to lie with you.”

“You don’t know that.” Troy cocked an eyebrow. “He seemed _pretty_ receptive.”

Falling silent, Fl4k bowed their head, the lens of their eye closing. 

“This conversation is revolving in a circular pattern. I fear there will be no resolution.”

“Let’s just agree to disagree, dude.”

“I am not a ‘dude’.”

“Ah, right. Rhys said you ain’t a robot either. Fuck knows what that means. Though I have to say,” Troy rubbed at his chin, “you’re not something even _I’ve_ seen before. And I know my way around machines.” 

Fl4k didn’t supply an answer, their eye re-opening, though not entirely.

“I should probably drag you somewhere else,” Troy said, the change of subject abrupt. “Heat’s only starting. Don’t want you around for it.”

“You do not get to decide that. It is Rhys who must.”

“Nah, I don’t think so. Besides, I bet he’d agree: you watching me fuck him till he passes out from exhaustion for the next few days? That’s some pervy voyeuristic shit right there. This ain’t a peep show.”

“That does not sound very pleasant for Rhys.”

A snort from Troy. 

“You kidding? There ain’t nothing he’s probably needing more right now.” 

“I feel I should be wary to believe you. However, since Rhys has propositioned me, and has expressed the concerns you speak of most recently, I am more inclined to take your word for it this time.” Legs scuffing against the floorboards, Fl4k attempted to gather them beneath themself. But the chain attached to the radiator pulled taut, and they seemed to be having trouble getting the limbs to support their weight. “I have never seen humans copulate with each other in the flesh before. You were making quite a deal of noise when I woke. I am aware the act is not supposed to be one of a painful nature, so I find it curious. Also, I did not expect it to be similar to my beast when it claims a mate.” 

“Uh, change of topic, alright?” Troy, who was busy preparing another hypodermic, looked over at Fl4k, noticing they were struggling to get up. “What’s wrong with your legs?”

“They do not seem to be responding to input from my motor cortex. My systems appear to be overloaded with corrupted signals.”

“Ah. Right. My fault. I ain’t familiar with whatever system you might got inside that tin can of yours. Otherwise I’d crack ya open and straighten it out.”

“You may not crack me open, as you have put it. I would surely perish in your hands.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Troy tore off a piece of brahmin meat with his metal fingers from the plate he’d brought, which were strangely capable of precise movement. He popped it in his mouth, chewed as he shifted position. “Guess I gotta deal with you being around a bit longer. Bummer.” 

Grasping Rhys’ forearm, Troy twisted it around with careful consideration, eyeing the expanse of pale skin there, looking for the perfect vein. He wasn’t sure how Fl4k had managed earlier, but Troy had enough experience not to need use of a tourniquet. Curling Rhys’ hand into a fist and keeping it clamped like that, he found a juicy specimen, poking the sharp end into soft flesh. 

“I do not appreciate your puncturing of my packmate with your needles. He does not require your chemical compounds, nor to develop any addictions to them.”

“It really _is_ nutrients this time,” Troy replied, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m all out of the good shit for him. Got to do a supply run soon.”

Shifting against their chains, Fl4k made another attempt to stand, crashing back down. They struggled in the confines, the metal creaking as it buckled under the strength. There was a loud snap, chain links falling away one by one like broken teeth. Fl4k flexed their arms, seeming bewildered.

Troy had risen to his full height, Rhys not even having stirred, not even when the alpha had wrapped him back in the sheet from earlier. He turned, the corners of his mouth drawing downward when he saw that Fl4k was free.

“Shit,” he said in a deadpan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come poke me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MorteAmore)


	5. Paradise Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys dreams of his time spent in the settlement of Sanctuary Hills, and how Fl4k and Mr. Chew attached themselves to his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some warning for gore & violence in this chapter, but nothing Borderlands or Fallout doesn't usually have

Lost in his fevered sleep, Rhys was dreaming again.

It was a day of harvest, the crops swelled to as big as they would grow in the settlement’s soil. Rhys had been busy picking tomatoes and corn and potatoes all morning, the sun becoming unbearable as noon crept closer. He’d retreated to the shade of the gutted house he shared with a few others around his age in Sanctuary Hills. As he took a seat on the threadbare mattress that served as his bed, there was a distinct ping that came from his Pip Boy. That was never a good sign. Twisting his arm around to look at the screen, Rhys saw that the anatomical depiction of the Vault Boy—his avatar—was flashing. He pressed a button, information scrolling across the screen under **STATUS** as it switched to a display of the Vault Boy doubled over, looking nauseated.

**Warning: DNA alteration has been detected. Please contact your Overseer immediately**

Rhys’ gaze stayed glued to the Pip Boy, unable to glance away. He’d never seen a display such as this before. The closest he’d ever come was when he’d been sick or injured, and those definitely hadn’t mentioned any compromising of his DNA. Fiddling with the controls, he tried to wrangle a better explanation out of the machine, but it was like extracting wisdom teeth with some frayed string and a doorknob. Ill feeling having settled in his gut, he hadn’t realized he’d been trying to get it to reveal more information for so long until a voice broke him from his trance. He looked up, staring at the muscled, older man with deep black hair combed in a faux pompadour before him. Dressed in overalls, welding goggles pushed up into his hairline, the man was loaded down with various mechanical tools and supplies clipped to the utility belt he wielded. 

Sturges was the local repairman and a friendly enough sort. A little gruff around the edges at times. Especially if you weren’t pulling your weight in the settlement enough. He’d never had reason to get on Rhys’ case before, so the omega was a little concerned with his presence.

“You done with your harvest work yet?” the mechanic asked, glancing at Rhys’ Pip Boy. “Soon as you are, there’s gonna be a meeting. Everyone needs to be there, alright?”

“I think I got enough for today done,” Rhys replied, trying to mask his wariness. 

He wasn’t in the best of spirits at the moment, with the mystery of the Vault-Boy display and all, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with the others. He’d been here for a year or so, yet he still hadn’t really found a place among them. They didn’t always trust him, him not being from a vault in the Commonwealth like their leader supposedly was. It was a ridiculous notion for anyone to feel prejudice towards, but he caught them staring at the ink on his neck, thinking it some clandestine symbol. Of what, he couldn’t even fathom. Only that as soon as he’d mentioned alphas and omegas, and explained how normal folk were betas when he’d been met with confusion, he had cultivated ire.

“Good to hear, Rhys,” Sturges said, pulling him back from his thoughts. “I’ll be seeing you in a few.”

As quickly as he’d appeared, Sturges had left, likely off to round up other folk. Rhys wrung his hands, biting his lip as the anxiety began to bubble in the depths of his viscera. There was nothing he could do about the message on the Pip Boy now, though. Maybe later, in private, he’d ask the other vault survivor about it. Or Sturges. The mechanic had a strangely extensive knowledge of Vault-Tec sometimes. 

Right now, though, he had a meeting to attend. Slipping off his bed, he splashed some water on his face from one of the outdoor pumps and headed for what served as the settlement square.

Most of Sanctuary Hills’ residents were already gathered, the other vault survivor, Nora, in the center of the cluster. She looked wary, eyes drooping low with the bags beneath them, vault jumpsuit soiled and smeared with grease, zipper lowered in front to reveal and equally dirty v-neck. She nodded in acknowledgment as Rhys approached, clearing her throat to get everyone’s attention.

Behind her, settled under the shadows of a sickly tree whose bark had been stripped for supplies, was a figure Rhys had seen around the settlement a few times. Excessively tall, shrouded in a raggedy hooded coat that made their bulk hard to discern, the omega was pretty sure it was a machine created by Robco. Why it was wearing human clothes was anyone’s guess. But by the design of the exposed metallics of its hands and legs, it was hard to consider it otherwise. At its side, a skag lay on its belly, its jaws dripping saliva on to the grass.

“I think that’s everyone, right?” Nora said. “Is Perry and Kaitlin here?”

Two people raised there hands, the woman nodding at them before her gaze swept over the sea before her. Rhys kept to the back, where he didn’t have to endure anyone’s stare, his height an advantage.

“Then I suppose we’ll get on with this.” Nora took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “The animal handler Fl4k has told me that Raiders have made camp in the wilderness and are planning an attack at nightfall. They have slaughtered one of the young deathclaws that they was training for us. We need to make haste and ensure all our ramparts are reinforced and secure. Also that we have enough weapons and ammo to go around.”

“We’re pretty well stocked,” Sturges piped up, arms crossed over his barrel chest. “There hasn’t been any Raiders around these parts lately. Thought they were done bothering with us.”

“Apparently not,” Nora replied. “But that’s good. I need everyone who can pull a trigger without shooting themselves to be armed.”

“There are about thirty to forty Raiders who have taken up residence in the nearby wastes,” Fl4k proclaimed in their deep voice. “I do not know the purpose of their attack. It is difficult to infiltrate their plans if you are a machine.”

“That’s quite alright, Fl4k. You’ve done good just by warning us.” Nora rubbed at her temples, the worry lines there evident. “That’s a good amount of Raiders. Compared to our numbers here, it’s _too_ good of a many. We’ll have to face this with our smarts rather entirely with our brawn.”

“Aye,” an older fellow with a grizzled beard agreed. 

From his place in back, Rhys fretted. He was not an expert on wasteland life, and he’d been smart enough to avoid Raiders on most of his outings. But he knew their characters well, the leather-clad ruffians who took whatever they wanted and slaughtered those who opposed them. More than half of them were chem addicts. More importantly, they were usually lead on many occasions by alphas; bloodthirsty, aggressive, undisciplined alphas rumored to enslave any omega they could get their hands on and breed them to death. It was a fate no omega wanted. If one were captured, it was likely better to off oneself, so he’d heard.

Given their supposed proximity, Rhys wondered if that could be their goal. He was the only omega here, and his sole existence probably didn’t extend much higher in the Commonwealth. Omegas were just too scarce in the wastelands. If Raiders had gotten wind that one was residing in Sanctuary Hills, they would no doubt attack the settlement looking for them.

For _him_, an omega in his prime.

Even though he knew that might not be the case, Rhys was suddenly chilled from the inside with the possibility. His bottom lip trembled and he crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to shiver.

“Not throwing yourself into the fray, Rhys?” Nora’s voice drifted over to his ears.

Looking up, he saw that everyone had either broken off into clusters or left the square, Nora approaching him, Sturges dogging her, carrying a wooden crate with **FRAGILE** stamped on its side. The other vault survivor’s brow furrowed when she saw the state the omega was in.

“You look ill,” she said to Rhys. “Have your checked your Pip Boy recently?”

“I’m alright,” he replied, lowering his arm out of instinct so the display was obscured. “It’s just hot out today is all, and I was helping with the harvest earlier.”

Nora hummed, her eyes narrowing. She had no ill will towards Rhys, as far as he knew, though she wasn’t always an ally. Her stance was typically neutral towards anyone. Something must have caught her eye, because she held out her hand, gesturing at his Pip Boy. 

“May I?” she asked, and Rhys, knowing not to argue with the woman who had been basically elected in charge, placed his forearm in her grasp.

The woman saw that the screen was flashing and scrolled through the various menus, looking up sharply when she settled on a single one and skimmed through it.

“Have you been taking chems regularly, Rhys?”

“Yeah, of course. Well, at least my suppressors, so I don’t have to go through a heat. That’d be bad for everyone here.”

The woman turned to Sturges, who looked away from Rhys.

“Rad stuff too?” he asked. “We didn’t really have enough to go around the last few days. But I’m pretty sure you get priority as a youngin’.”

“Yeah, I took some. I’ve been taking them regularly since I got here. Before, maybe not so much.”

There was a curt nod from Nora, a grimness to it. She let go of Rhys’ arm. 

“I see. Sturges?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Why don’t you go see if Fl4k needs your assistance. I need to talk to Rhys in private.”

The omega’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach as Sturges turned and left. It was washed under the tide of stomach acid, dissolving into something nausea inducing. Rhys wanted to be anywhere but Sanctuary square at the moment. However, Nora had him trapped here with her, and running would be futile.

“Rhys, you’re not going to like what I’m about to tell you.”

“Alright.” A nervous, warbling laugh escaped him. “Go on and rip the band-aid off.”

“That message on your Pip Boy….” Nora sighed. “You’re fine, in terms of how illnesses go. But I’ve seen this before. At least a few times, now. It’s an unfortunate side effect of living outside the vault. And you being an omega—it’s harder for you to withstand some of the higher radiation levels in the Commonwealth.”

The ground was opening up beneath Rhys’ feet, becoming a great black hole that threatened to drop him into a never ending abyss.

“What exactly are you saying?”

“I’m sorry. You’ve probably endured enough radiation poison over time that you’ve reached a turning point. A biological mutation, most likely.”

“Meaning?” Rhys prompted after a bout of silence had fallen, his throat constricting even as he spoke. 

“This read-out, on your vitals chart.” Nora’s face was grave. “I’m afraid you’ll no longer be able to bear children, Rhys. I know that’s difficult to digest, especially for a young omega such as yourself. But….”

Whatever Nora said next was lost to the pounding of blood in Rhys’ ears. Everything had faded to background noise, rushing in a static tide. His heart felt like it had stopped, or at least slowed to a crawl, its beat impossible to detect. What Nora had said was like a suckerpunch designed of rock and ice, battering him to the core. To lose one of his most defining features as an omega, what he’d been raised to believe was the pinnacle of omega purpose, was a devastation he hadn’t been prepared to deal with.

“I need to be alone,” he said in a rush, too numb to even shed tears. “I can’t stay here right now.”

“Easy,” Nora said, tone gentle. “You can’t leave. It’s too risky, and we need you here helping us.”

“I can’t be here,” Rhys repeated. He scanned the perimeter, looking for the nearest empty space to flee to. “I’ll be no help anyway and you know it. Just let me go. I’ll come back when I’m ready.”

Nora inclined her head, crossing her arms, face stern. “I won’t keep you, if you really want to leave. Try your best to be back by nightfall. Take along your backpck, too. I don’t want to think about you being out there without support or supplies with Raiders about to attack us.”

Without a nod or any other gesture of acknowledgment, Rhys turned away. His footsteps were slow and plodding at first, kicking at the withered grass before striking concrete. He made a pitstop to grab his belongings from his dwelling, then kept going, picking up speed, until he was slipping past the ramparts of Sanctuary Hills. Some other settlers gave him strange looks or tried to stop him, but he didn’t seem to be heeding their words.

Returning to the tree where Sturges and Fl4k were currently hunched over the open wooden crate and examining scrap and weapon parts, Nora addressed the AI.

“I want you to follow that young man I was just talking to, Fl4k,” she told them. “Don’t worry about helping. I have Sturges for that.”

Sturges gave a simple nod, but didn’t respond otherwise. 

“I just want him safe. He’s one of us. Keep your distance and just observe him for now.”

“Of course,” Fl4k answered her, straightening to their full height. “My beast and I are excellent trackers. We will have no difficulty performing this task.”

“Good. That’s good.”

XXX

Smell of ozone on the air, carcasses of dead animals baking in the sun set with the subtlest hint of smoke and rot. Traversing the wastelands was never pleasant on the senses. Especially an omega’s, hardwired to be better detectors and differentiators of scent as they were. From across long distances, Rhys could smell other omegas or alphas wherein alphas on the other hand were a bit dulled of ability in comparison, only acute when it came to omegas. Their instincts towards their own ilk were based more in body language and physical features. They tended to be larger of stature than the average person, more dense of muscle, and their teeth were vicious, equipped with predatory fangs used for contestments of will and piercing the flesh of an omega’s bonding site. Of all the endotypes, they had the most affinity with natural and base instincts. More often than not, they were difficult to trust, and with good reason.

As Rhys walked in aimless pursuit of solitude, the smells were what guided him. They told him the areas to avoid, what was safe to venture closer to. There wasn’t much cover here, mostly boulders and some brush and scrap piles made up of old, rusted cars and broken machinery. If he was ambushed, he’d be helpless, not even a pipe gun on him to defend himself. It may have been hasty, coming out here on his own to ponder his cumbersome thoughts. He could have easily found somewhere to hole up in Sanctuary where nobody would have bothered him.

_Stupid_, he thought in despair, but refused to tuck his tail between his legs and go back. He’d made his decision and he’d stick with it.

As the day wore on, Rhys found his footsteps becoming more plodding, his energy sinking to levels where they were nearly depleted. He reached in the pocket of his cargo pants, pulling out one of the snack cakes he often kept on his person. It tasted like sandpaper and made him cough, but just having something in his belly made him feel better immediately. He could concentrate again. Which was more nuisance than blessing. Thoughts of what Nora had told him circled his mind like tracking darts, searching for an obscured target. 

_…you’ll no longer be able to bear children, Rhys. I know that’s difficult to digest, especially for a young omega..._

Rhys clapped his hands over his ears, than immediately let them drop back down to his sides. It wasn’t like he’d be able to eradicate the possibility _that_ way.

As a young omega in a vault where his father had been one of the alpha Overseers, the thought of losing one of the defining traits of being an omega was like waking up to find one of his limbs missing. Never one to buy into the omega ideals they spoon fed among his fellow vault dwellers, he didn’t know why it bothered him so much. His own father had been willing to overlook if he didn’t end up with an alpha, or if he didn’t bear any children. There had never been any pressure on him to do so, at least from his own blood. Though that was kind of hard to say, his mother having died giving birth to him. 

Saul Henderson had been the best parent he could’ve asked for, though. Endless patience, wisdom few alphas had, keen insight into the nature of his son’s personality.

Then _fucking Vasquez_, that piece of shit. That knothead scum. Rarely did Rhys know the taste of rage, thick and metallic as it could be. But for the man who killed his father and orphaned him; who sent him into the wilds of the wastelands and rendered him most likely infertile, probably all for the pursuit of building some sick, forbidden omega harem like the olden days, he felt nothing but the smiting heat of the flames of hell for. And he wished he could rain them down on Hugo, extract revenge with the blazing heart of his hatred.

Doing so meant going back to the vault, though. On his own. He was ill equipped to deal with the older alphas there who had certainly aligned with Vasquez by now, if his cynical thoughts were reliable. Any who opposed were probably banished or slaughtered. Likely the latter. 

Very suddenly, Rhys lost all will to continue. Despite the snack he’d imbibed, he was devoid of energy, staggering over to the rusted, hollow frame of a car sitting askew on the roadside. Almost collapsing, he leaned back against it, hoping it wasn’t so oxidized it would crumble beneath him. A great puff of air burst from his lungs, his mind desperate to purge all thought and grant him a moment of peace.

But peace was not on the table that afternoon. Not in his mind, and not in the wastelands. Not far from where he was braced against the car, there was a gurgling snarl, followed by collective hissing. He almost didn’t investigate, played it smart and kept his distance far from whatever hellish thing awaited him today. Ever curious, and ever stubborn, though, he fought every instinct to flee and followed the noises. It took him up a small, grassy knoll and through some dry and dead underbrush that ran the perimeter of a parking lot, its pavement cracked with chasm-like fissures, the leftover husks of cars scattered about.

That’s not what caught his attention, though. Some feet away, a cluster of feral ghouls stood hunched, swaying and strafing as if a pack of wolves meticulously pulling off a strategic kill. Opposing them were just two Raiders, leather clad and low in rank by the looks of it. One was a scrawny thing, hair shaved off on one side of their head, an eye patch slapped over their right eye. In their hand, a length of chain. The other man, though beefier, was also nothing exceptionally intimidating. He didn’t look much different from his companion, eyes blackened with grease or coal, hair buzzed into a mohawk. In his hands, some kind of javelin, its end tied with barbed wire and adorned with metal scrap. 

Neither were alphas. They wouldn’t be able to tell if Rhys was an omega. He could probably leave quietly if he turned around now. He was no sympathizer of feral ghouls, who he’d been attacked by on more than one occasion. And Raiders were always better off avoided.

No sooner had Rhys backed away from the scene and turned around that he let out a yowling call of startlement. Peddling backwards, he tripped over himself and toppled to the parking lot, sprawling on the concrete, inches from bashing his head open.

Shimmering like a strange liquid veil, Fl4k had coalesced out of nowhere, as if they’d stepped through a fissure in time and space. Seeing Rhys’ distress, they crouched beside him, offering a hand.

“Hey, assholes!” someone shouted. 

The AI turned their head, their eye fixating on the pack of ghouls, some having shifted their attention to where Rhys had fallen. They approached a few steps at a time, stopping to observe in intervals. It wasn’t clear if the Raiders were addressing them or Rhys and Fl4k, but the robot hauled Rhys up by his arm without anymore hesitation and turned to face the opposition.

“We will not harm you or take away your kills,” they said, focused on the two Raiders. “We do not wish to interfere in your affairs, and we request that you provide us with the same favor.”

The heftier Raider side-eyed his ally.

“Are you hearing this, Lefty?” he said with a snort. “This piece of Robco scrap think we’re actually going to listen to it?”

The man dubbed Lefty tittered, bearing stained and broken teeth, some missing entirely. The look in his one eye was dull and cold, enough to chill average folk to the bone. Rhys could only imagine the vivid horrors it had witnessed.

“We should drag it back to camp and trash it for parts,” he replied. “That looks like good metals, probably strong and sturdy. And the kid, well, sure somebody will be able to get their rocks off with ‘im.”

“That’s nasty.”

“I didn’t say _me_, shit for brains.”

Ignoring the ghouls for now, Fl4k eluded them, keeping their gaze on them to make sure they didn’t attack. They dragged Rhys along, back towards the brush.

“You will attempt no such thing,” Fl4k told the Raiders. “Neither of you will place a hand upon the organic. And you would likely not wish to pick a fight with me.”

“You sure about that, tin can?”

“Of that, I am most certain. Should you try either, I would have your heads as my trophies.”

“Are you hearing this?” the larger man said, taking a few lumbering steps forward.

Following him, Lefty hefted his chains, swinging them with lazy movements. The whipping sound as they cut through the air attracted the attention of the ghouls, their wet gurgles rising into a blend of noises that could chill the blood. Two of them darted into the space between the opposing sides, hissing as their necks careened to survey their prey. Their brethren refrained from joining them in the bold attack, the warier members of the quintet, it seemed. It was impossible to tell if the ones that held themselves back were working in accordance with each other, readying to attack at more opportune moments istead. 

Their eye narrowing to a thin strip, Fl4k shifted on their feet, preparing themself, should things escalate. Fingers twitching, their gloved hand moved in a subtle path towards their belt.

“Fuck the ghouls. Let’s get ‘em!” Rhys heard Lefty shout. “Don’t kill ‘em, neither. Tie ‘em up if you can.”

“The fuck I’m supposed to do _that_?”

“Use yer ropes, dumbass.”

Rhys felt Fl4k shove him away. He stumbled, losing his footing, his tailbone slamming against the concrete. Again. Seconds later he heard the rising howl of battle, the screech of a ghoul as it was kicked aside to make way for the mountain of a man surging past. He was a like a linebacker, the Raider, plowing forward with nothing but pure brute force towards Fl4k. 

The AI was swift, removing the jawbone hatchet from their belongings and waiting for the right moment to send it arching over their head. It swung wide, seeming to pierce the sky as it came to the pinnacle of Fl4k’s reach, swooping down like a carrion crow upon a fresh carcass. The Raider stepped directly into its path, his momentum slowing too late for him to avoid the blow. The hatchet bashed against the top of his skull, its jagged teeth posing so much force they penetrated the bone, latching on like living jaws and lodging there. There was a warbling scream, the human mountain crashing to his knees. His body became a quivering mass of flesh, blood drooling from the punctures and spilling down his skin, beginning to pool on the concrete as it dripped off his face. The scream became a sharp, high keening. Lips blubbered and trembled, unable to form words.

Fl4k yanked their arm away, taking the hatchet with them. The gaping wounds in the Raider’s head were exposed, blood welling up quicker now. A loud thud shook the ground as the man fell forward, writhing there. Fl4k paid him no heed, moving like a hunter on the prowl, silent and quick, a blur even in the sunlight of mid-day. This time they didn’t use their weapon, their hand snatching at Lefty, hoisting him up as if he were a broken child’s toy. The way Fl4k tossed him away, he may as well have been one, and he collided with two of the bravest ghouls, bowling them over as his weight trapped them against the ground.

In horror, Rhys watched as the two ghouls were sent into a frenzy by the impact, kicking and clawing, fingers digging into human flesh, piercing with shear force. They tore pieces of Lefty off of him as if they were starving animals, the wet, meaty sounds making Rhys’ gorge rise. Gore and viscera slapped against the ground, human parts barely recognizable. The omega thought he saw an eyeball, globular and trailed by a cluster of nerves, get crushed to a pulp beneath a ghoul’s heel.

The other three ghouls must have heard the battle cry of their companions, spurred from inertia as they threw themselves at Fl4k. Feral ghouls were, of course, utterly dangerous in packs, but never really too bright. The Raiders the robot had fell were barely blips on their radar, their attention unphased. They were focused, they were vicious; Fl4k was their target, and they wanted to leave them eviscerated.

A raw punch was thrown by Fl4k at one of the ghoul’s faces, bone and cartilage crunching as it crumpled under the force. The creature reeled back, tumbling over, screeching its agony and rage. Upon seeing their fallen kin, the other two ghouls lunged, Fl4k kicking one away, their clawed foot connecting with its crotch, its pelvis reduced to broken bits by the impact. It landed on its back and could no longer raise itself, Fl4k leaving it squirming and clawing at the air as they rounded on the other enemy. 

This ghoul was more intelligent. It seemed to consider its surroundings, than the robot before it, walking backward in an almost comical line. Not allowing it even an ounce of leverage, Fl4k refused to let it gain distance, keeping pace with it until it finally turned tail and fled. They watched its clumsy sprint for a few moments, then seemed to come to their senses, turning back around to survey where they’d left Rhys.

With the last of the ghouls distracted by the meal Lefty provided them with his remains, they completely ignored both Fl4k and Rhys’ presences. Having no reason to attack or defend, Fl4k paid them the same service, moving to tend to Rhys instead.

The human was already moving away, but not in the direction he’d been heading back in. Arms crossed over his chest, shoulders hunched, he was shivering despite the heat of the day, his rapid footsteps carrying him towards the far end of the parking lot. 

“Rhys,” Fl4k called to him without raising their voice. They hesitated a moment, clipping their bloodied hatchet back to their belt then hurrying behind the human. A low whistle escaped their vocal synthesizer. A few seconds later, something thundered through the brush, a skag with a handkerchief tied around their neck appearing to trot along behind them. “I missed you, Mr. Chew,” the AI told it before saying to Rhys again, “I have not been assigned to engage you in conversation or escort you, but I feel that you should return to Sanctuary Hills. The vault survivor was concerned for your wellbeing.”

Rhys was shaking his head as he walked, not bothering to look backward. 

“No. I can’t. Not now. Probably never. Stop goddam following me and get the hell out of here.”

“I cannot do what you request. I made a vow to observe you and ensure that you remained safe on your own out in the wastelands.”

“Then why aren’t you doing that? What kind of dumb robot are you even? I’ve never even heard of anything like you, let alone seen it.”

“I am not a robot.”

“Well, you look like one to me.”

They walked for a few moments, following a straight path, Rhys not seeming to be paying much attention to his surroundings. This concerned and annoyed the AI, who had caught up to his side, Mr. Chew falling into formation with them as he bounced somewhat on his clawed feet.

“It is not important what I am or where I came from,” Fl4k spoke up, piercing the silent veil. “Unlike organics, I hold my vows to the highest pinnacle. And Nora has been an ally in the times since my emergence. She is one of the few organics who would stand at my side in the midst of warfare or otherwise. I do not wish to go back on the word I gave her, or to oppose her request.”

“Fine, then,” Rhys said, voice drooping with exasperation. His footsteps slowed until he had stopped, his body twisting to face the machine. “Then escort me, I guess, or whatever you need to do.” His eyes darted to the skag, whose butt waggled as he made eye contact. “Just know that I’m not going back to Sanctuary. I need time alone. To think and…see what I want to do from here. I don’t even know anymore. They never welcomed me there, anyway.”

“Nora cared about the status of your person. She expressed her desire for you not to perish. And I am inclined to agree with her concern for you. You should at least send word to her that your wishes are to leave.”

“No, I don’t think so. If you’re so concerned, you go back and tell her. Me, I’m just going to press onward, see where it takes me. There’s a great, big fucking world out there I’ve never seen before, or even knew about when I lived in the vault. You want to join me, then fine. That’s your choice.”

“I believe what you speak is a fair standing, Rhys,” Fl4k said after a moment or two of pondering. “Those with the power to act on free will should be allowed to exercise that power as they wish. Such as I have.” They paused, giving Mr. Chew a pat on the head. “That, and there is much peril in the wastelands, which makes for good hunting. You are not a hunter by nature. Your body seems too weak and your senses too dull for it. I, however, live for the life of such. It is my directive. What organics call drive, or even more peculiar, destiny. I believe, if we were to become companions in the hunt, than I could provide you with great leadership.” 

“Yeah, whatever you said is fine. I guess. Just, you think you could be a little quieter right now? There’s—there’s a lot I’m trying to think about.”

“Very well. I find myself…pleased with this outcome, though I do not entirely understand it or what compels me down this road. Me and my beast will remain your silent companions until you request otherwise. I hope the Raiders are unsuccessful in their move on Sanctuary, should they make it, though. I was not informed that such should be my highest concern.” Fl4k brushed what served as their chin in thought; a jarringly human gesture. “You are an enigma, Rhys, that such an organic as Nora prioritizes your safety over her pack.”

“Er…yeah. That’s interesting. Not that I have any clue why she gives such a damn, either. Maybe it’s the suddenly barren omega shit. Or because we both survived living in vaults.” Swiping at his face, pushing hair off his forehead, Rhys turned back around, his journey begun yet again, albeit at a much slower pace. “We’ll find a way to check on her or even pass along a message, next city or town we come to. It really shouldn’t be far from here.”

And it wasn’t, the two of them and Mr. Chew taking roughly twenty-four hours to reach the small farm with its welcoming residents, breaks for rests aside. Rhys was so ecstatic to see full meals and an endless supply of purified water when he reached it that all wariness melted away. Some of the settlers there seemed scared of Fl4k, though they were not impolite to them. Word turned out to be the Raiders had not attacked Sanctuary Hills after all, had fled the area and surrounding wastes quite suddenly without much explanation. Though the pair were glad of the news, Rhys felt uncertainty settle in his stomach. They had dodged a bullet this time, and funny how the Raiders had just up and left around the same time the omega had fled the settlement. 

But perhaps it had been the two maimed and eviscerated bodies of their companions that had been left behind in that parking lot that had scared them off.

For the next year and a half that Rhys traversed the wastelands with Fl4k and Mr. Chew as his companions, Rhys would never find out. He would, however, come to realize how smart it had been to grab his pack before leaving Sanctuary, and how life as a wasteland vagabond was just that much harder if you happened to be a young omega.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story may undergo a short hiatus during the holidays, at least until after New Year's. I'll try to update during that time if I can, but I'm not sure I'll get the chance to work much on this particular project.
> 
> As always, I can be found on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MorteAmore) or [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/Morteamore)


	6. Heathorn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly just straight up smut. Yup, that's basically all it is.

It was hard to gauge what time of day it was when Rhys awoke. The blinds were drawn, but he could tell by the lack of light shifting through their slats that it was still dusk out, or at least that the sky remained dark. That, and someone had turned on a lamp, its bare bulb glowing softly from a corner of the room, casting it in deep shadows. As Rhys became more aware of his surroundings, he noticed he wasn’t alone. A tall, lanky figure sat on the bare floor, long legs pretzled into the lotus position. Before him, a hulking mass of fabric, splayed on the floor like a pile of junk. Rhys came to recognize the pile as his packmate, Fl4k. And the other, less familiar man was Troy, he recalled. An alpha.

The alpha currently assisting him with his heat, more specifically. Though he really hadn’t had much say in that decision. Still, despite the circumstances, a part of him was grateful that an alpha had found him. If Troy hadn’t come along, and Fl4k hadn’t found the correct omega medications, Rhys wasn’t sure what his fate would’ve been.

Somehow Rhys managed to raise himself up from the mattress. He felt winded doing so, disoriented, having to wrestle for concentration. But he managed to wrench his torso into a sitting position, taking several breaths before getting his feet under himself. They wobbled, as if made of gelatinous material, his steps clumsy as he moved towards his targets.

First to notice his approach, Fl4k looked over in his direction, their eye seeming to widen and brighten a considerable amount.

“Rhys,” they said, their voice hitting a rising note, a hint of relief swimming under the surface of their usual robotic tone. Before they could say more, Troy turned his head in Rhys’ direction, appearing unmoved by the omega’s presence.

“Finally awake?” he asked in a conversational tone. “Hope you like brahmin, cos that’s what I brought you. And you’ve _got_ to be hungry by now.”

Troy moved to get up, but Rhys rushed forward, latching on to his arm, fingers turning white as they pressed into the skin there.

“I believe my packmate might require your assistance,” Fl4k said. “He appears to be in distress, and my limbs remain unresponsive.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” Troy winced, then turned to Rhys and made an attempt to lessen his hold on him. The omega’s fingers were like a pressurized vice. “Hey there, heathorn. Something I can help you with?”

Barely aware that Troy was speaking, Rhys had been concentrating on Fl4k, the familiarity of their voice drawing him in. Thoughts were easier when he had something to ground him. He couldn’t ignore the alpha, though. His voice and presence, not to mention his scent, were like a bright, shiny lure to his instincts. Rhys may as have been bereft of free will, because he couldn’t bring himself to ignore or deny it. His fingers slipped on the flesh in their grip, retreating.

“Wh—what?” he asked, unsure if he’d heard the alpha right.

“Heat…horn? Ya know, cos you’re new to heats. And—and that’d make you a greenhorn. It’s totally the perfect nick.”

Fl4k tilted their head, the movement exuding skepticism. They didn’t say anything, but Troy wasn’t dense. He snarled at them.

“Don’t you even start,” he said. “What do you know, anyway? You’re a machine.”

“My grasp of knowledge concerning the use of alternative names for objects and creatures that we are fond of is vast.” A pause, then Fl4k added, “Try me.”

Troy snorted, ignoring the comment. He opened his mouth to address Rhys, only to find the omega folding to his knees. It evened their heights, giving Rhys the perfect angle to bury his face against the skin above Troy’s leather collars. The alpha could feel hands scrambling over him, not even mindful of his robotics, tangling and disengaging from them like someone trying to sort out the shape of an object through touch alone. Heat radiated from soft palms, warming his skin where they shifted over him. He heard Rhys hum in what he could only imagine was content, the sound lapping pleasantly through his muscles.

“Who says I’m fond?” Troy said after some time, the delayed response ringing awkwardly. “Maybe I just like having an omega around to bang, eh?”

“Then you would have enslaved him such as the Raiders do to any omega they encounter. I do not see any chains or collars to ensure such measures, besides the ones on your person. You have also claimed that your intentions were to ensure another alpha did not implement such measures.”

“And you’re all of a sudden going to believe me?” 

Knobby bone came into contact with Troy’s body, inches from his groin, narrowly avoiding squashing his manhood. He did all in his power not to shove Rhys off of him, who was determined to climb into his lap. The fact that Troy was only wearing boxers didn’t help, barely anything to protect him from the omega’s restless edges. 

“No,” Fl4k said, their gaze falling on Rhys. “I am merely using your rhetoric against you so that you may see the flaws in your logic.”

“You are _such_ an asshole.”

“And I believe you are a false prophet and, as they say, full of shit.”

There wasn’t much room for Troy to be taken aback by the statement. Pressed up against his chest, Rhys nuzzled him, a soft murmur of unintelligible words following. The act didn’t remain innocent for long. Between them, Rhys’ hand snaked downwards, his eyes hooded when he looked up at Troy. The other man was suddenly very aware of Rhys groping him, the act bordering on shy as the omega’s fingers hesitated against the cloth of his boxers and then the stretch of skin between navel and waistband. It was enough for Troy, though, who suddenly found himself focused on the hard flesh poking against him. There was no need to verify what _that_ was. Of course Rhys had woken up randy and rearing to go again.

That wasn’t a problem for Troy, who adjusted the omega’s position for better friction. Now that he had Rhys in a strategic spot, the contact against his burgeoning hard-on minimal and the resulting sensation restrained, he could control the situation better. Robotic limb braced against the flooring to anchor himself, he wound his flesh arm around Rhys’ back, pressing them flush together. 

“Hey,” he said to the omega, his voice husky.

There was no response from Rhys. At least not verbally. The omega bore his weight down, hips shifting against Troy with obvious purpose. There was a hiss from the alpha, who had to corral his impulses before he ended up throwing Rhys down on the mattress and taking him like some feral beast.

“You should probably drink a bit and at least have a snack first,” he said, trying to appeal to the rational part of Rhys’ mind.

Rhys just whined at him and leaned in. Something warm and wet dragged against Troy’s chin, swathing over his body mods. He couldn’t contain himself and leaned in to it, adjusting his head to capture Rhys’ mouth. His tongue slipped between the crevice of the other man’s lips, colliding with his teeth and tongue. Rhys was eager and passionate, but perhaps overzealous. There was no grace to the way he kissed back, his valiant but uncoordinated efforts causing the alpha to chuckle against him. 

If there was one thing Troy hadn’t expected out of Rhys while the omega was in the midst of his heat, it was to be sitting on the floor locked in some ardent make-out session with him as if they were a pair of horny teenagers afraid to initiate actual sex. Which, he supposed, wasn’t _exactly_ an incorrect description. But here they were, and the alpha couldn’t find reason to complain about the procrastination, throwing himself into the act.

When they parted, Rhys was panting, eyes bright and distant, as if he were looking without seeing. He was burning hot, skin tinted pink from it. Like a piece of some ripe, pristine fruit, Troy wanted to bite into and devour him. He settled on clamping his teeth down on Rhys’ bottom lip, garnering a yelp of surprise before a desperate whimper broke the air. It was when Troy tasted the first stirrings of copper that he pulled away. The dab of blood on Rhys’ lip was dark scarlet and glistening, welling up till it drooled over. The alpha could feel his own heart hammering in his chest as the taste bled along his palette and snaked into his veins. He swiped at the fresh wound with his tongue, savoring the second, taboo taste.

“I would appreciate if you did not make any more attempts to dine on my packmate,” came Fl4k’s deep tone. “He is not to be considered your sustenance.”

Fl4k having been forgotten in the sexual fray, Troy almost leaped out of his skin at the sound of their voice. He tilted his head in their direction, a noise of disapproval ripped from him.

“I’m not the big bad skag or nothing. I ain’t gonna eat him. Mind ya own business.”

“Rhys _is_ my business, or do you need to be reminded of that fact?”

“Man, you’re, like, made up of rusted cogs or something. Always endlessly squeaking. Can’t you just leave us the fuck a—?”

The sensation took Troy entirely off guard as it wrapped around his hardening length. It was just Rhys’ hand, swept beneath the waistband of his underwear. But those long, graceful omega fingers were dexterous, manipulating his shaft with considerable skill. His breath hitched in his chest as Rhys drew him out, flesh pulsating as the omega tugged and squeezed at him. Soon Rhys was clambering up his torso, panting in his ear. As best as he could, Troy helped him along, all thoughts that they unfortunately had to endure an audience falling to the wayside. He held the omega in position as Rhys aligned himself, the other man requiring steady guidance, as his balance was off, his aim following suit. Forever seemed to pass before he felt Rhys’ slick muscles parting around the head of his cock, both of them groaning in unison at the sudden pleasure and relief.

Where he expected Rhys to take his time adjusting, his appetite proved formidable. Without hesitation, he drove himself downward, nearly engulfing the entirety of Troy’s shaft in the process. It didn’t even deter Rhys, having such a daunting cock inside him without much preparation, the expression on his face one of utter euphoria. His long legs locked around Troy’s body, hands searching out and finding the right places to latch on and cling. The omega was adamant about not wanting to wait for Troy to take the reins, raising his his hips almost all of the way back up, sparing no patience as he slammed himself back down, an unbroken moan substituted for words. He worked himself into a rhythm, unrelenting, without grace or measure. Almost taken off guard by how bestial Rhys’ actions were, Troy had trouble grasping any conversational words, their presence like entities slipping through his mind without purchase. 

“You’re really something, eh, Rhys?” he said, the words finally coming out in breathless amusement. “Fuck. Last omega’s heat I took wasn’t half as eager.”

It wasn’t a total lie. The omega had been begging enough for his touch, but, not wanting to grow attached to Troy, had shied away from any contribution. It had worked, in the end. At least for the omega. Troy, on the other hand, had pined for _hot, tight omega pussy_, as Tyreen had so crudely put it, for months after. Until he realized how foolish he was being about the whole alpha and omega dynamic and vowed never to let that happen to him again. That Rhys was a male omega helped some with that situation. The alpha had no qualms about sexual encounters with other men or anyone in-between. Sex was fun and pleasurable for him regardless of what heat the other person was packing. But he didn’t think he could fall for those not of the female persuasion, nor truly prefer those of the male. In his masculinity, Rhys was an entirely safe option to fuck without having to worry about any complicated relationships developing.

A sharp, concentrated pain brought Troy back to the present. Nibbling on his shoulder, Rhys’ blunt omega teeth weren’t meant for piercing or rendering flesh. The damage they inflicted on Troy was negligible, a chuckle he couldn’t quite hold back bubbling up. Even if he didn’t quite know the cause of Troy’s amusement, Rhys shot him a glare anyway, following it up with the strange juxtaposition of him leaning in and nuzzling Troy’s ear. The message was mixed, as if the omega was warring with himself. Taking it in stride, Troy braced his mechanical arm behind his back for balance, his other arm going tight around Rhys’ waist. Muscles quivered in his abdomen, the delectable thrum of impact felt in his thighs as he thrust upward; hard, impaling Rhys with one fluid movement. It threw the omega’s own momentum off, made him yelp in pleasure and surprise, his body clenching around the alpha’s.

“You’re cuter too,” Troy continued. “Like, the kind of cute that’s way freakin’ hot at the same time. And tight. I might as well be fucking virgin ass.”

It was impossible to tell if Troy’s brand of pillow talk was having any effect on Rhys. The omega continued to nuzzle him, moving without pattern along his neck and jaw, peppering him with the occasional press of soft lips as he kissed him. Rolling his hips, Troy kept an even pace, the hitching of Rhys’ breath vibrating through him where they were pressed together as it became increasingly difficult for the omega to control his breathing. Even Troy was breathless by the time his knot began catching on Rhys’ hole, the bulge spreading the omega wide until his control was abandoned and he was writhing on top of Troy. Twisting and churning as he was, Rhys milked the alpha with uncanny expertise. His knot forced Troy’s movements to a minimum, the momentum of his hips confined to the tug and vice of muscles. Warm jism flooded Rhys in waves, the omega’s body drawn tight, body wrapped around Troy’s as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to the material plane. His straining, pale throat trembled with his own cries. 

Something warm splashed against Troy’s navel and abs, thick and weighty as it dribbled downward. Even with the lack of manual stimulation, Rhys had no trouble achieving orgasm, dousing Troy in a healthy coating of his semen. Long fingers carded through the liquid. No qualms held the alpha back as he brought the digits to his mouth, sucking them clean with obscene noises.

“Wow, shit’s addicting,” he remarked, fingers shiny with spittle. “No wonder every last goddam alpha wants to get their hands on male omegas. Not that going down on omega girls ain’t great and all, don’t get me wrong. But this? Just about beats even chems.”

Baring his teeth, Rhys headbutted Troy’s shoulder, growling low at him.

“What?” Troy asked, grabbing him by the chin and tilting his head so that their gazes were even. “Is someone jealous because I mentioned other omegas? Aw, you don’t have to worry about that, Rhys. It ain’t _them_ I’ve got my knot buried in, now, is it?”

At Rhys’ huff of breath in reply, Troy shifted his mechanical arm, collapsing to the mattress on his back. Rhys’s legs were forced to unfurl from their quarry. He flopped over Troy with the momentum, the alpha managing to catch him before he could go sprawling and injure them both where they were attached. A moment later, their mouths were meeting, tongues dancing in unison again. Fingers played along the knobby notches and ridges of Rhys’ spine, Troy tracing them with a touch that seemed bent on memorization. Where the omega’s cock pressed in against him, he could feel that it was still stiff and pulsating with the telltale signs of heat lust. His hand graced the slats of Rhys’ ribs before roaming down and grasping it, tugging at the shaft with fairly rough and shallow strokes. A muffled sound where their lips were locked didn’t take long to burst through, Rhys’ body shuddering, his muscled insides cradling Troy’s knot in velveteen pressure as he came again in record time. 

“How is it that you are continuously able to manipulate my packmate like this?” rang a voice as if emerging from some dimensional crevice. 

Drawing Troy out of his revelry in a heartbeat, it was as if an invisible force had separated him and Rhys. He wrenched his mouth away from where they were locked to the omega’s, lips twisting in a sneer. Even the omega looked over at the interruption, blinking owlishly.

“Rhys is quite responsive to you,” Fl4k continued with a tilt of their head. “He has never been like this towards other organics. You must have orchestrated this outcome.”

There was a sound of amusement from Troy, as if what he was hearing was preposterous. 

“How well did Rhys explain alphas and omegas to you?” he asked out of curiosity, his voice so low it was almost an animal growl, his robotic hand winding around the omega’s body with a possessive air.

There was a shifting of weight from Fl4k’s upper chassis, their lower half still remaining unmoving. 

“Rhys has explained that in times of what omegas call, like other mammals, a heat, an alpha is required to satiate their sexual desires. Otherwise they remain dissatisfied and may fall into states of torpor.” A pause, Fl4k seeming to pool their thoughts as they regarded their own feet. “It is then that they will not consume or imbibe any life sustaining substances, which puts them in a precarious situation. The alpha is also required to sustain their existence for those exact reasons.” At last Fl4k looked up again, peering at Rhys as if awaiting the omega to speak for himself. To the AI’s chagrin, the Rhys just huffed out a cloud of air and buried his face against Troy’s neck, sniffing at his skin. “In some cases, an alpha and omega will form a permanent coalition known as a bond. The bonded pair typically remain together for survival, and to procreate, passing their lineage down through their brood. Rhys has explained to me that is why I can never be a true alpha to him.”

“You know your shit, for a sack of crappy bolts and wires,” Troy remarked, impressed, but in a condescending way. “He’s right, though. No way you could be an alpha. Even if you _did_ have the equipment for it. Which I honestly don’t know.” His gaze flickered down to the slight part of the AI’s legs where they were sprawled out. “Gonna say probably not. That, and you just don’t have the _humanity_ for it. Rhys would be putty in your hands otherwise.”

Raising both hands in front of their face, Fl4k looked between each four fingered appendage, lowered them.

“It would be unpleasant to manipulate Rhys’ form in such a way, I would think. Besides, I would not know how to put him back in exact order.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that, dingus,” Troy said, his words flat. “Can you maybe not keep watching us? Last guy that did that? I gutted ‘im. Strung his intestines up and everything. Then used them for cannibal sausage. Was _real_ tasty.” Sensing Rhys was glaring at him, Troy cleared his throat, shifted gears. “Anyway, can you just give us some goddam peace, man? Shut your systems down for awhile or some shit.”

“I cannot comply with that. Now that I am once again operational, I must ensure that Rhys remains unharmed.”

“If I wanted to hurt him, he’d be broken and bleeding by now.”

“That does not mean you will not harm him in your future endeavors. As his pack alpha, I shall remain vigilant.”

There was a curling of lip to display Troy’s metal-plated fangs. To any other alpha, it would be a territorial display, one of warning, even a bit of a pissing contest. To Fl4k, however, it was nothing more than someone belligerent trying their best to be intimidating. As such, they did not respond, unable to flex any real show of power in their position. Eventually losing interest in the face of what he deemed a lack of challenge, Troy’s gaze dropped to where Rhys had propped his chin on his tattooed shoulder. That sphere of dark ink that was embedded in Rhys’ skin was on full display at the angle, enticing the alpha’s instincts. That, and the bow of thin, pale flesh stretched over ridges of bone and muscle, unblemished and spotted pink in some areas. It drew out the ache in his teeth, to sink through the flesh, draw omega blood forth. Troy had to tear his eyes away lest he give in to the bestial instincts, forgetting, for a moment where he was and what he was doing.

When he came to, Fl4k had managed to fade into the background of his perception, and it was just him and Rhys, breathing in near synchronization. It spooked Troy, he had to admit, that tidbit of lost time. He could feel the wash of drool clinging to his lower lip, licked at it, tasted Rhys’ cum that still lingered. This situation was proving more daunting than he imagined, and the loss of control was not something he could afford.

His knot still swollen, Troy grasped their interlocked bodies, worked at arranging them in unison so that Rhys was resting on the mattress and Troy was atop him. The omega murmured nonsense at him, reached up and locked his arms around Troy’s collared neck, ultimately drawing them closer. It was dripping in intimacy, the faint and drunken smirk on Rhys’ face melting something deep in Troy’s viscera. Feeling drawn to swollen and ruby omega lips, he kissed Rhys yet again, this time with more of an earnest twist. One of them sighed into it, neither wanting to pull apart from the other, their dance done in perfect harmony.

Within Rhys, over a period of time that felt stretched and drawn to eternity yet lightning quick, Troy could feel his knot starting to give way. Instead of pulling out and allowing the both of them some rest, he used the regained ability to move his hips to his advantage, thrusting himself in again before he could slip out, drawing back roughly. Beneath him, Rhys let loose a ragged moan as Troy found a hard, pounding rhythm, crashing against Rhys’ hips like an ocean turned tumultuous by a storm. The mattress shrieked at what would have seemed brutal to an outsider, but was just a simple drive towards raging pleasure for both alpha and omega. Their cries mingled and clashed, Troy relentless, Rhys eager to receive. If either of them said anything, it was swallowed or choked off by the rabidness of their actions.

Then Rhys was shouting as he came, splattering them both for a third time with his semen. The pulsing of his muscles sought to drive Troy over the edge, like grasping fingers pulling him ever further down. Almost as soon as it had subsided, his knot was swelling again, making his movements akin to walking through setting cement. With all his might, Troy rammed himself inside Rhys as far as he could drive, bellowing when his knot refused to budge another inch, his orgasm robbing him of sight, sound, and awareness a moment later. His body trembled as he came hard, Rhys squirming beneath him, whimpering in pleasure.

“I bet you’re feeling real nice right now,” Troy said, huffing out a breathless laugh. “First heat, full of my thick alpha knot. Life couldn’t be better.”

His robotic hand planted firmly on the mattress, it was effortless for Troy to keep himself upright. From his position, he could watch the spectrum of emotions crossing Rhys’ face without expending much energy. Bewilderment, ecstasy, trailing towards dazed. Eyelids drooping, he looked ready to succumb to sleep again, but also seductive, hand trailing down the concave of his own stomach, legs widening to either side of Troy as if trying to entice the alpha all over again with a lewd display. Looking down, Troy had an unhindered view of where they were joined. It was mostly a mess, cum painting both their crotches and thighs, cooling in the stillness of their bodies. The alpha couldn’t believe it when his eyes fell upon Rhys’ length only to find it still standing at attention between them. It was grasped in Troy non-mechanical hand, given a few courtesy strokes that had Rhys gasping, head thunking back against the mattress. 

“Course, you’re just hellbent on exhausting me, aren’t you?” Desperate as Rhys seemed to be to hump at Troy’s hand, chase the friction, he was in no position to move. “If you don’t calm down some time soon, you’re gonna end up asphyxiating my knot. Then how the hell am I gonna fuck your heat-crazed brains out?” 

There was a cluck of tongue, a shake of head, sweaty hair flopping over Troy’s face in a disheveled pile. But Rhys didn’t seem to appreciate the teasing, whining as if the alpha had scolded him with conviction. Hands shot outward, roaming up Troy’s abs and chest at random.

“It is not possible for a physical feature to experience asphyxiation,” Fl4k said from their spot, interrupting. “It lacks the ability to perform respiration, thus cannot be deprived of oxygen to begin with, except for that which is absorbed through the pores. Your _knot_, as you call it, therefore cannot do as you claim.”

“Oh my god, will you just shut the fuck up already?” Troy snapped, eyebrows dipping in a menacing ‘V’. “Before I bust off your head and use it as a beer stein.”

“Pouring liquids into my cranial cavity would likely corrupt their flavoring, as well as damage my circuitry beyond repair.”

Just a growl from Troy, who may have squeezed and jerked the cock in his hand just a bit too hard out of frustration. Back arching, Rhys’ jaw gaped open, a strangled cry unfurling from his lungs. In what seemed impossibly too quick a time span, he was cumming again, his semen just thin rivulets now, almost entirely clear as it swept downward over Troy’s hand. At last, it seemed the omega’s balls had been spent, the alpha pulling his fist away as the flesh pressed to his palm began to flag. His tongue traced the cum trails clinging to his fingers and knuckles, sucking every last trace of Rhys’ essence from his own skin. 

“Yup. Omega spunk should just be plain illegal,” he remarked, licking the last traces of it from his lips. “Or maybe just yours, heathorn.”

Troy patted the side of Rhys’ thigh and buttock like some prized specimen. Then he was leaning forward, stretching out his long and lanky form for maximum comfort. He found a good position to drape himself in while remaining tied to Rhys, their legs tangling, Rhys drawing him into the circle of his arms. Soft hair brushed like insect legs against Troy’s skin. Rhys was settling his head into a comfortable crook of the alpha’s body, nuzzling him again with eyes closed. It wouldn’t be long until his breathing evened out, till his muscles melted into the bed below and he expelled the rest of his energy and gave in to rest. 

And Troy, ever the proper alpha, would wait until the omega was deep in the throes of slumber, until his own knot gave way naturally and slipped from its coveted cradle of flesh. Then he would coil around his temporary lover and keep him warm and safe until they were both rejuvenated and ready to go once more.

Until then, he kept his head empty, his mind free from any of its usual bloatfly buzz. The room gradually faded, as did the noises around him, below him. There was nothing but himself and the moment, latched on like the parasite his sister oh so loved to call him.

Awake but barely aware, Troy lay awaiting time’s slow but inevitable crawl, even Fl4k remaining silent where they sat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this fic may be nearing its conclusion. I have outlines for maybe two or so more chapters, and then it'll probably wrap up, maybe have an epilogue. Not sure yet, but it's definitely past the halfway point, so expect to see an end soon. 
> 
> As always, you can find me over on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MorteAmore)


	7. A Lesser Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for minor character death in this chapter, though it canon to Borderlands 3's storyline. Also, lots of blood and gore. There's some casual referrals to cannibalism and sexual assault here, though nothing all too graphic.

Sunrise, and Troy had already forgotten how many times Rhys had cycled through a series of naps and knottings. It might have been three, was probably more like four. At _least_ the former. He couldn’t be entirely sure. Sitting up on the mattress, the alpha drew his bony knees up, flexed his toes like a cat. That flex became a slow stretch that began in his legs and rolled up his entire body, shoulders joining the fray last. Troy put his hands behind his head, careful of his wiring there, and cracked his neck to either side. When he was satisfied that his naked physique was limber enough to support his weight, he scooted carefully away from Rhys’ sleeping form and rose.

And came face to face with the machine.

_Shit_. 

He’d been careless, reckless even. In Troy’s passionate couplings with Rhys, his frantic scramble to keep up with providing the omega with which he desired, he’d forgotten about Fl4k. Over the course of the night, the AI has recovered from the EMP grenade, regaining full use of their limbs and circuitry. The alpha had noticed at some point, but he’d been apathetic, too busy driving himself balls deep into his omega companion. The sound of bodies crashing against each other, the lewd sounds they made upon collision, and the scent of sweat and sex was the only thing occupying his world at the time. He’d expected to be attacked by the machine, but they never made the attempt. It was likely they had known Troy’s intentions were far from harming Rhys. Still, their neutral behavior had been odd.

Now, though, they didn’t seem so neutral anymore. Fl4k’s one eye was narrowed in a squint, fixated on Troy. In the inches they were apart, it was blinding. Especially since the machine was almost as tall as he was. He pushed past them, moving to pick up his clothing from one of the haphazard piles on the floor. 

“Are you going to just fucking stare at me like that all morning?” Troy questioned them, finding a tank top with over-sized holes for the arms and neck. It looked custom sewn. “Where the hell’s my underwear?”

“I do not hope that you wish to put old and soiled underwear upon your person for a second time,” Fl4k said, watching Troy flit about the room. “That does not seem hygienic, and I would not want Rhys being in proximity to such filth.”

“Ugh, they’re not _soiled_. Don’t say it like that, man.”

“What would you prefer me to call them? They are from a different cycle of time, and you have spilled your DNA upon them, have you not?”

“You’re being really gross, you know that?” With an angry wrench of his robotic arm, Troy’s dresser drawer almost came flying out and crashing to the ground as he yanked it open. “Fuck it, I’m just gonna grab a new pair.”

“I do not see your point. I am merely stating the facts that I have witnessed.” 

“How about you just don’t comment on it at all, eh? Dumbass AI, or whatever the hell you’re supposed to be.” 

After rummaging in the drawer, Troy finally found a pair of bright red boxers. They were wrinkled and tighter to his body than he liked to wear, but clean when he put them on.

“Look. Tin can.” His pants the easiest to find among the piles, Troy stuck a foot in one of the leg holes. “Remember that factory I mentioned way back at the Rexford?”

“The one you falsely led me to? How could one such as I forget? That was not a true facility you spoke of, though. I am unsure of what that particular structure’s purpose was, if not for storage of your chemical substances.” 

“Don’t matter. The real factory exists. It’s just not where I told you it was.” 

Buttoning and zipping his pants once he’d gotten them up, Troy found his utility belt, fitting it through his belt loops and locking it in place. Next were various trinkets he collected from around the room. Some were weapons, like his Kremvh’s Tooth, while others looked like useless trinkets and tchotchkes. He stuffed them into pockets and pouches, clipped them to his belt. At least one EMP grenade was secured to his person. A pistol was fitted into a holster.

“I’ve been neglecting my duties while I’ve been having myself a holiday with the heathorn there,” Troy spoke up after a bit. “So I need to go down to the factory and choke a few bitches. Plus, I need fresh chems if I plan to keep Rhys as calm as he’s been. You saw him last night without them. Imagine that, but, like, one hundredfold.”

“What is that word?” Fl4k had turned towards Rhys, was moving to crouch next to him. The omega’s breath came slow and even, weaving in and out of his lungs with relaxed form. “I have never heard it used before. Could you explain its use, or is it a colloquialism that would be lost to one such as I?”

“Whaddya mean? Which one, ‘bitches’?”

“I understand what a female canine is.” A robotic hand with only four fingers was laid upon Rhys’ head, stroking at his hair as one would a pet. He didn’t stir. “It is the ‘heathorn’ that has me confused. I have never heard it used before, even by alphas.”

“That’s cos it ain’t a word.” Tattoos flexing, Troy’s flesh shoulder rose and fell in a shrug. He’d taken his jacket off the hook, was slipping it on. “I made it up. Just something I said at the moment, ya know?”

“I think I understand. Still, the concept is a strange one to me. Is it a sex thing that allots you to refer to him by this name?”

“What else do you think it’d be? It certainly ain’t no goddam cute pet name or nothing.” 

Smirking, Troy picked up a cylindrical object that was sitting on one of the milk crate shelves and popped the cap off of it. There was a nozzle underneath, which he pressed down, spraying himself in a cloying scent. To Fl4k, it smelled fairly neutral, no overly strong notes or hints of chemical concoctions. Perhaps that was the objective, considering he’d been lying with the omega all night.

“Look, I gotta ask this.” The alpha was halfway to the door when he turned back, his gaze falling upon Fl4k’s hand on Rhys’ head. An involuntary snarl left him, lips skinning back to reveal metallic canines that looked sharp as a razor’s edge. Quickly he reined himself in, the momentary lapse in control settling deep in the pit of his viscera, unnerving him. “Whoa. Maybe you should step away—ya know what, never mind. I’m gonna be gone for a hot minute. Since you two are like some kind of pack thing, I need you to watch Rhys for me. Make sure he doesn’t wander out of here. He’s super vulnerable right now.”

“You are aware he is in such a state, but yet you are going to leave him here without your presence to guide him?”

“I have no fucking choice!” Trying to reel himself back from the edge he was walking, Troy coughed, realized his one normal hand was balled into a fist. “I can’t take him with me, and it won’t be long at _all_. You can protect him yourself.” 

“I cannot calm him in the ways that you are capable of, nor can I satisfy his desires as an omega. That is why I have not let you come to harm yet.”

Troy shot him a look that was feral deep down to its core, yet somehow dour at the same time; an expression that couldn’t seem to choose its shape. 

“You keep threatening me,” the alpha said, shaking his head slowly, hair fanning out and flopping over his forehead, “yet I ain’t the one you really ever needed to be all fucking worried about. I can’t see how you haven’t gotten that yet, if you’re supposed to be _so_ advanced.”

“You broke up our pack by _stealing_ the omega bound to me, the alpha.”

“**A)** Ya not an actual fucking alpha, and **B)** I’ve already justified my actions. I ain’t gonna sit here and repeat myself to a machine until they get it through their clunky-ass head.”

“I have not seen this threat you keep claiming with my own eyes, therefore, I have my doubts. Not a single alpha has disturbed us in this facility, and the other one you spoke of, I have never met.”

“They wouldn’t fuck with what’s mine here. They know I’d kick their asses.”

“Rhys is _not_ yours, nor will he ever be.”

Having spotted his single glove, Troy was in the middle of putting it on, digits slipping into the cut-off finger holes. He ran said fingers through his hair, sighing. 

“I’m not going to sit here explaining this to you over and over.” He gave a flippant gesture. “Watch Rhys’ back or don’t. All the same to me, cos I think you’re pulling shit regardless. I’ve got a job to do and a factory to secure. And I _will_ be back as soon as I can.”

That seemed to end things. Arguing no further, Fl4k watched Troy unlock the door and make his way out. The AI did not stop him, but Troy looked back one final time, brows drawn in an unreadable expression. He knew that if Fl4k had been able to glare, they’d certainly be glaring at him as they hovered protectively over Rhys, who looked nothing if not peaceful.

It was downright surreal, jarring the alpha. Whatever guilt had manifested in the stony core of his heart was suddenly roused, antagonized till it rose like an encompassing wave. 

Unnerved, Troy beat a hasty retreat.

xxx

The outside of the factory was littered with super mutant corpses, strewn about like lawn decorations. Under the summer sun, it wouldn’t take long for them to grow ripened and decay, and Troy knew none of Katagawa’s Triggermen standing guard were about to haul away the massive forms with their own bare hands. There were at least an entire burly sextet of them, too. The mutants themselves were riddled with bullet holes, missing limbs or parts of their skulls in some cases. There must have been a recent scuffle in the days since he’d been with Rhys, the alpha only slightly perturbed he’d missed out on kicking super mutant ass. In the end, it was easier for Katagawa’s men to deal with the nuisance, anyway. The less Troy had to get involved the better. Still, he liked putting the putrid, arrogant fucks in their place, if only to display to them there was certainly things out there bigger and badder than they were. Triggermen were one of them of course, but the alpha thought himself more intimidating, being able to take one out usually with his bare hands much like he’d fought the juvenile deathclaw. The creatures and inhabitants of the commonwealth were often no match for Troy’s raw alpha strength, and he liked to remind others of that.

With their telltale tommy guns at their sides, the Triggermen at the factory’s entrance paid no opposing heed to Troy’s presence, only nodding at him in acknowledgment. He entered without incident, moving past the front lobby to come around to the area of the building that had been designed to serve as the production line. There stood boxes stacked upon boxes that lined shelves towering to the ceiling, various containers laying open on work stations or conveyors. Major portions of the cache were just liquids in various containers arranged by color, but some of it was empty capsules and unidentified powders. At least a single section of the vicinity was dedicated to the production of injectors, plastic and scrap fitted together with duct tape and glue for cheap distribution.

Production itself nearly ground to a halt at Troy’s entrance, all gazes shifted to him upon his appearance. That wasn’t typical behavior for the factory workers, and it was downright unsettling to witness. The alpha’s footsteps slowed, his senses going on alert. 

Something wasn’t right here.

“So glad you could finally grace us with your presence, Troy,” came a voice from somewhere in the vicinity, sounding so saccharine and upbeat as to be derived from the exact opposite. “I was beginning to think you may have decided to give up this sordid life and deflect to the Brotherhood of Steel.” 

“As if I’d ever throw in with those self-righteous, militant motherfuckers,” Troy said with a snort, turning in the direction the voice had come from.

Above him, standing on the catwalk overlooking the facility floor, was Katagawa Jr. With hands folded on the railing, the man regarded him a moment, eyes narrowed. Then he pushed away from where he stood, descending the several staircases it took to get to ground level.

“Are you so sure of that?” he questioned the younger alpha. “There are times where I believe your actions speak for you, and this may be one of those times.” A pause. The alleged boss was taking his time on the stairs. “For instance, I’m going to pretend, for a moment, that you didn’t know about a certain omega being at the Rexford, and that you didn’t help them escape.”

Heart seeming to freeze in his chest, Troy felt cold sweat break out on his skin where it was exposed. It was accompanied by the feeling of reality receding from around him. The other alpha had reached the ground floor, had stopped at the base of the stairs. He was leaning on something in front of him that was almost as tall as he was, both hands folded atop it; a very long, very wicked sword he must have had on his person.

“Troy Calypso,” he said, inclining his head, “do _not_ give me that look. Do you really think yourself so clever that I wouldn’t find out about your side escapades? Please. I’m an older alpha than you are, and you’ve been in my employ for some years. To say I know you well is understating the concept.”

Troy said one word, voice bereft of emotion. “How?”

“Simply. An omega going into a heat is quite odorous by nature. It’s to attract an alpha partner within as wide a range as possible. I smelled them as soon as they stepped into the Rexford. A delight for the senses, if there ever was one, that bouquet of pheromones and raw desire.” 

“Don’t be gross about it again. I had enough of your alpha talk a few days ago.” 

“It’s only gross to a neonate like you. Anyway, I figured I’d acquired myself an easy target, one that I could pursue at my leisure. I was, of course, wrong. And do you know why?”

“Think so. But you’re going to run your mouth off anyway. So I’ll bite: why?”

“Because of you, Troy. Because when an alpha that’s as young and virile as you are gets close to an omega on the cusp, it tends to change their very chemistry. They become attuned to it. This is sometimes considered to be an alpha going into a vicarious rut.”

“I’m not in rut, Junior. You can see that for yourself.”

“No, you are not,” Katagawa murmured. His hands slid off the pommel of the sword, the weapon taken in a single grip. As he walked forward, he dragged the edge against the cement ground, producing a scraping sound that made the hackles rise. “Not entirely. But I wouldn’t rule out the possibility. Your scent certainly is not entirely your own right now.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.” 

The older alpha stopped a few feet away from Troy, the sword lifted, pointed in a straight line at his heart, blade within plunging distance. 

“I’m going to breach your personal space now. If you are to try anything I would deem threatening, I won’t hesitate to slice off your genitals. And if you still display any aggression towards me, I’ll then take your only human arm from you. From there, your legs. And, finally, your head. You could disbelieve me, true. But I’m a man of my word, and this sword is a family heirloom, sharpened by the bloodlust of my ancestors.”

“Fine. Whatever, boss,” Troy said, gesturing with a casual dismissal. “Do you see me trying to oppose you? No, cos I don’t have any fucking reason to. Yet. Don’t make me suddenly develop one.”

“Then we’re in agreement.” 

Satisfied Troy wasn’t going to attempt anything, Katagawa lowered the sword, holding it at his side. He shuffled forward, each footstep tapping out a careful rhythm against cement. They were feet apart, then inches. Carefully, Katagawa leaned in, nostrils flaring as he breathed in the air closest to Troy’s pulse point and where his shirt managed to leave part of his chest bare. There was the tickle and heat of breath as the older alpha huffed against him multiple times. 

And then suddenly there was something pointy and painful digging into the meat of his throat. 

Katagawa had taken a slight step back so that he could look up at Troy. His curl of hair swayed as he tossed his head, his eyes blown wide and wild.

“You foul piece of offal,” the other alpha was saying. “You’ve got the omega in your possession! Have you copulated with them, taken their heat? How dare you make this transgression against me. You’re redolent of their very essence!”

For a moment, Troy regarded the other man with a guarded, blank expression. Then he was snarling, his robotic fist wrapping around where the sword was pressing into his flesh, pushing it away with slow progression.

“You upset there, junior?” he goaded with bared fangs. “Can’t bear the thought that another alpha got a hot piece of omega ass you wanted?” Troy couldn’t help poking at the other man’s ire. He let out a curt laugh. “So sorry to hear of your loss. Only, I’m not. Cos it’s _moi’s_ gain.”

“You son of a bastard!” Katagawa shouted in his face, trying to throw all his weight forward in an attempt to budge the sword back the other way. It didn’t work. He couldn’t contend with the strength in Troy’s robotics. “You had no right to take the omega. That was supposed to be my _breeder_. I was meant to take their heat, start a family from between their loins.”

“Ew, that’s dis—you’re fucking kidding me, right?” With a heave, Troy sent Katagawa and the sword stumbling back, the other alpha nearly tripping over his own feet as he was thrown off balance. “I mean, Rhys doesn’t seem to be into me wearing condoms when we’re fucking like rabbits, but I don’t think it’s cos he’s _into_ popping out pups or anything, neither.”

“_Rhys_? Their name is Rhys?” 

Finding his footing, Katagawa didn’t hesitate. Like a typhoon descending on an unassuming city, he came at Troy, sword raised above his head.

“_His_ name is Rhys, yeah,” Troy said, casually catching the sword again and holding the other alpha there, lest he have to drop the weapon. “And I really doubt he’d be all that responsive to a piece of shit like you whose dead set on abusing and raping the fuck out of him.”

“You can’t assault omegas when they’re experiencing a heat, Troy,” Katagawa said matter-of-factly, wrenching himself away. His breath came hard, fast, gulped around his words. “It’s neigh impossible. They always crave an alpha’s touch then, and we’re there to provide it.”

“Sure, you’re absolutely right. They do. And they need us. It doesn’t mean we gotta turn them into broodmares, now, does it?”

“Since when have you been able to climb on the high mount and speak of injustice towards omegas?” Katagawa demanded of him. Hair in disarray, clothes rumpled from Troy’s resistance, his voice was becoming thin and high, nearing screechy. “You _kidnapped_ one and brought him to your den of iniquity or whatever soiled, rathole of a space you have to bed him in. You can’t deny that, Troy. All the evidence cannot be wrong.”

“No, you’re right. That’s exactly what I did. No shame to it. But I don’t got him shackled to my bed while I constantly try to knock him up like that’s all he’s there for, either. So, there _is_ that.”

“You cannot deny your instincts!” Katagawa stepped forward, his jaw set, teeth gritted. He held the sword aloft like a baseball bat. “You want him full of your seed and pups just as much as any alpha would, and you’d probably crawl on your belly through broken glass just as much to see that possibility come to fruition. You’re an alpha in denial!”

“You know what?” An exaggerated sigh expelled from his lungs, Troy stepped forward, slowly closing the distance between him and Katagawa. “I think I’ve had a fucking ‘nough of listening to you. Both now, and as my goddam boss.”

“Then come oppose me, Troy Calypso. Let us contest as two alphas should until one is the victor, see who the true apex is, shall we?” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, Katagawa realized his mistake. It was all too late to react. Troy didn’t even use the strength and reach of his robotics, didn’t need to. He was lunging like a lean and starving yao guai, muscles bunching and flexing, mouth gaped wide. A battle cry of unbridled rage escaped it, wordless and full of bellowing reverb that shook through the area around them. It was the sound of a true alpha let loose from that which bound them, feral and deadly.

Too late, Katagawa brought up his sword point first to halt Troy’s advances. Skin turned sallow, sickly as the other alpha’s torso was pierced by the blade. Then Troy was gripping the razored edge with fingers made of unsliceable alloys, applying pressure until a great cracking noise was seizing the air. Shattered like it was nothing more than delicate glass spun by hand, the blade fell away in pieces, clattering against the floor.

“You utter, chem-dependent, mutant _freak_,” Katagawa hissed between his teeth, his entire demeanor from expression to voice twisted into something demonic. “I’ll mount your head in the Rexford lobby and toss your body to the bloatflies to be used as fodder for their broods!”

It was the only words Katagawa managed to get out. A harsh, strangled gurgle escaped him. Troy’s mouth had latched on his throat like some great hunting beast, teeth clamped against the flesh. They squeezed, tighter and tighter, a thin trickle of blood running against his tongue as his fangs punctured something vital. Like hapless prey caught in the jaws of a trap, Katagawa quivered and gurgled, unable to respond in any other way, vocal chords held hostage.

In an instant, they were released, but not from between Troy’s teeth. The younger alpha’s head wrenched backwards, tearing skin, muscle, and tissue alike. Blood sprayed in an impressive arc, splattering his face, coating him in thin red streams, raining like a waterfall down to the floor where it pooled and spread like a cancerous growth. Troy spit flesh and blood from his mouth, making disgusted sounds. Still alive, Katagawa crumpled first to his knees then wilted over on to his side. His chest was heaving, wet, heavy sounds coming from the ruin of his throat. The younger alpha folded into a crouch beside him, metal hand braced against the ground, other draped over the jutting edge of his knee.

“Really, Junior, you shoulda known there was only one apex here all this time,” Troy chided, looming over him. “And, of course, _I’m_ it. Really don’t see why you’d even try opposing me.”

Attempting to answer, Katagawa could only manage a hacking cough, blood shooting up in a fine mist and spattering Troy’s eyes. He growled and wiped it away, expression scrunched up, perturbed. When he looked up, he saw that all gazes in the factory were upon them still, their intrusion into the matter blatant. Who could blame the workers, really?

Like a spring-loaded mechanism, Troy sprang back to his full towering height, glaring. There was a look in his crystal blue eyes that hadn’t been there before. Triumphant, determined. His former boss laid at his feet, the life ebbing out of him in a cascade of brilliant crimson. He reached, grabbed him by the collar of his suit with mechanical proficiency, which was now soaked through with the ruin of blood. 

“The fuck you all staring at?” he barked at the crowd, wiping away the dark red stains that graced his lips and ran down his chin like macabre make-up. “Get back to work!”

None of the workers looked to have comprehended his words, frozen in place like automatrons in disrepair. Then they all seemed to move as one unit, returning to their work. The air was heavy with their unease, a feeling that clung to it like grime on filthy skin.

Katagawa was dragged across the room, dark smears left on the ground in his wake. The younger alpha secured the chems he needed for Rhys and Tyreen, then the ones that he preferred for himself. Once he was satisfied, he hefted Katagawa up as if he were an empty sack, bereft of bones or organs, and draped him across his shoulders like fresh, hunted meat. There was some kind of muffled sound, a noise like the dregs of someone’s drink being slurped up through a straw. Troy paid them no attention, pulling a disgusted face when he glanced to see his coat had a fresh blood stain. He supposed he should have been expecting that. 

Without much more ceremony, he burst through the factory’s front entrance. There was a gasp or two, mumbles among the Triggermen standing guard. But they didn’t question him, and they didn’t try to stop him. Their hush was damn near respectful, and Troy felt something warm and pleased manifest somewhere in the depths of himself.

Smirking, he doubled his pace, striking along the quickest path to the Shamrock Taphouse, hoping the way would deal him no obstructions.

xxx

Upon entering the Taphouse, Troy noticed a handful of things:

Gaff was not stationed at his typical post outside the front door.

The skag that they’d tied in the ally that Gaff had tended to had disappeared.

And the main taproom was way too quiet, only four or so Raiders sitting at a busted table locked in a round of poker. They barely glanced up at his entrance, and paid almost no mind to the limp body that was fast approaching corpse status strewn across his back. Even when he hefted it off of him, a loud thump echoing as he set it on the bartop, they didn’t look over. It was almost as if they were ignoring him. That was certainly rich to think about. They wouldn’t dare try it, considering his role here.

Or would they? 

Troy paid it no further thought, addressing the room.

“Got some fresh meat for the pot here.” With one long, bony finger, Troy poked Katagawa in the chest, digging the pad of it in, watching the older alpha spasm and shake, unable to crawl away. “Ain’t even fully dead yet. Fucker really knows how to cling to life.”

“Sounds a lot like you, God-King,” came the voice of one of the Raiders.

Whipping around, Troy wasn’t quite sure which of the human trash collection sitting at the table had said it. His eyes narrowed.

“Hey, don’t compare me to the meat,” he said in as flippant a tone as he could muster. “I’m a survivor. Cut from the womb by my dad’s bare hands, barely able to breathe with my own little irradiated lungs. And I’m still kicking twenty-four years later, healthier than most of you diseased fucks. Also unlike Junior here, who probs won’t even make a decent meal at the end of the day.” 

“You do know you and the God-Queen are the only ones around here that even remotely consider eating other people, right?” a mustached, balding Raider quipped as he threw down a card.

A shrug from Troy, faintest of grins on his face. “You do what you gotta do to stay strong and get by from where I’m from.”

“If that’s what you want to call using someone’s fingers and toes for appetizers, then sure.”

By this point, the younger alpha had already had enough backtalk then was usually to his liking. In a few thunderous steps he had crossed the distance between him and the Raider, removed his Kremvh’s Tooth from the sheath on his belt.

There was no warning. 

One moment Troy had the blade risen above his head and the next he was bringing it down on the Raider’s shoulder with a loud swoosh. It sliced through the skin, severing muscle and bone, making a clean cut all the way through the joint. The arm fell away without resistance, hitting the ground with a wet splat. Blood showered the vicinity, splashing against Troy’s coat and tank top. He clucked his tongue, annoyed that he’d ruined his clothing even further than when he’d fought with Katagawa. 

The Raider was on his knees, eye wide and quivering, keening as he stared at his missing arm.

“Now _that’s_ an appetizer,” Troy remarked, nodding his head as he lifted his blade, licked the blood off its surface like it was a fine sauce. “Fingers and toes—eh, never really cared for ‘em. Too many little bones.” Teeth stained pink, he bared them at the remaining Raiders, gestured with a flourish. “Anyway, floors open if any more of you care to leave a comment in my suggestion box. And by that I mean insult me to my face and all. Otherwise, you can get off your asses and go prepare the cooking pot. I’m not stuttering here.”

That dispersed the crowed. The gathering of men and women all got up slowly, tossing their cards away, avoiding Troy’s gaze. The God-King saw that one of them had laid down a stack of aces. Definitely cheating. He’d have to make a mental note of that for future games against them. 

Leaving them to tend to Katagawa and make the necessary preparations, he took the stairs two at a time to the second floor, elated at the prospect of relaying to Tyreen that he had bested their former boss. Something scrabbled across the wooden flooring, the scratch and scrape of whatever it was cacophonous. As Troy reached the top step, he was met by a wily skag, their jaws snapping and snarling in his face. He took a guarded step back, teetering on the steps and nearly tumbling back down them. Once he’d regained his composure, he snarled back, pushing past it to the open door of his room.

Fl4k was standing at the threshold, staring with their one opaque, brilliant eye.

“I need to attend to my beast,” they said after a moment, their bulk getting by Troy only because he stepped out of the way for it. “Mr. Chew and I have much catching up to do.”

How on Earth one could ‘catch up’ with a skag, Troy hadn’t a single clue. But he watched them go for a moment as they descended the stairs, entering the room only to find a sight that had him stopping dead in a heartbeat, his heart thundering in his chest.

Sitting propped up against the wall, dressed in short-shorts and crop top so that barely anything was left to the imagination, short legs sprawled out before her, was Tyreen. She appeared sleepy and relaxed, listless among the heavy warmth and scent currently turning the room into a pungent sauna. In her lap, though, was the true culprit that was making Troy feel suddenly territorial and defensive.

Naked, eyes shut tight, dreamy smile on his face, head propped on her shoulder, Rhys lay draped across her lap. His arms were wound tight around her mid-section, squeezing her so that the pair of them were pressed flush together.

It looked for all the world that he was clinging to her as one would for their very life.


	8. The Bite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took forever to write, and I apologize for that. But here we are, at the beginning of the end. Please note I've added a dubious consent tag for this chapter. Enjoy!

“What the fuck is this, Tyreen?” Troy demanded, taking a step towards her.

Tyreen’s gaze flickered to her twin’s, the expression on her face twisting into something more alert as the moments passed without her answering him. The chipped, painted surfaces of her nails threaded through Rhys’ hair, combing along the strands in a way that was possessive; too possessive for Troy’s liking. He bared his teeth, flashing metallic canines. 

“Answer me,” he demanded. His fist balled at his side, tension winding up his arm, making the whip cords of veins stand out against the skin.

“What does it look like?” Tyreen finally snapped back at him, the look in her eyes smoldering. “You left him here all alone, Troy. You left an omega in heat without an alpha. What the fuck were you thinking?”

He couldn’t meet her gaze any longer. Looking away, Troy cast his eyes down towards the floor.

“How is that any of your business?” he managed to get out between gritted teeth. 

“The moment there’s an omega in heat wandering the halls of our home, confused, afraid, looking for the alpha that kidnapped him claiming he was going to take care of everything—and he comes to _me_ for help, that’s when it became my business.” Staccato, enraged breaths came hard and fast from Tyreen, whose own bow lips skinned back from her teeth. She looked like she might spontaneously combust, rage emanating from her in waves. “He was better off in Katagawa’s hands.”

“Too late for that.” Troy couldn’t hold back the arrogance trickling into his words. “I fucking killed him.”

For moment, it was as if someone had pulled a plug. Tyreen stopped snarling at him, her expression one of someone who’d been told they had several moments to live. But then it morphed back into the perfect visage of aggression, even more intimidating now.

The look caught Troy off guard. Surely his twin would’ve been both shocked and elated to find out their boss was finally dead. They’d been planning it for ages; planning to overthrow the asshole’s empire and take it for themselves like they were due. 

“_That’s_ the reason you left the omega?” Tyreen demanded. “To topple over all that we were working to build up for ourselves before we were ready, royally screwing up any chance of us getting everything? The entire chem trade will be disrupted, now. Those men were loyal to Katagawa.”

“And the Raiders are loyal to _us_,” Troy shot back, feeling his own rage beginning to expand and boil over. “That’s besides the point. It’s not why I did it.”

“No, it wasn’t, was it?” Tyreen mocked. “You didn’t want any competition for the omega. You were just thinking with your dick and got greedy.”

“That ain’t it either, Ty. You fuckin’ know it.” 

“Actually, Troy, I don’t.”

At that point, Rhys began to stir. He shifted against Tyreen, groaning softly as he lifted his head first, eyes fluttering open. He seemed to see neither of them, gaze staring at nothing particular. His tongue skated out, licking lips that looked filmed in dry skin. Almost immediately Troy shifted gears, his footsteps carrying him forward again.

“He looks terrible,” he remarked, falling into a crouch beside his sister, inches from Rhys. “Have you given him anything?”

“Like what?” Tyreen asked, her tone settling into something more serious sounding, anger held at bay for the moment. “I found him wandering and immediately brought him back to your room. But you weren’t here.”

There was a thoughtful noise from Troy. It didn’t sound annoyed nor particularly thoughtful. “Hold out his arm for me,” he told his sister as he straightened up. 

She did as he requested, her brother tinkering with one of the pouches on his belt. She looked to see him puncture the film of a tiny bottle with a syringe, pulling back the plunger to withdraw the liquid inside. The needle was efficiently stuck into a juicy vein in the crook of Rhys’ elbow, the plunger depressed until all the liquid had been injected. The alpha wasn’t quite done from there. A second needle pierced Rhys’ skin, the omega just coming to when he felt the pinprick of pain. He nearly pulled away, but Tyreen held him fast until Troy’s task was complete. 

“There,” Troy said once the deed was done, tossing the syringes into a trash bin in the corner. “_That_ would be the reason I left him here alone. I needed to replenish our stash. You know I ain’t lying to you. Especially since some of this is for you as well.”

There was a skeptical twist to Tyreen’s lips, but after a few moments it seemed to dissipate. Instead she nodded once, helping Rhys to get his bearings, as he was trying to move away and stand up. The omega wobbled on his feet, his eyes unfocused as he tried to look at Troy. It was only Tyreen’s steadying hand that kept him from teetering over.

“What did you give me?” Rhys murmured, trying to bring his arm up to focus on it. Somehow, like a leaden bob, it kept sinking back to his side.

Resisting baser instincts that rose up as swift as a cold wind, to pounce on Rhys and claim him then and there, Troy reached out and gently coaxed the omega away from his sister. Rhys seemed reluctant to move, but eventually he came willingly.

“Nothing I haven’t given you before,” Troy answered him, rubbing his flesh fingers along the curve of Rhys’ spine. “You probably just don’t remember it. But I swear, it’s good stuff. Nothing that’s gonna hurt you or anything like that.”

Rhys’ eyes were closing. His weight leaned heavily against Troy, as if he were a ragdoll without any muscle or bone to keep him upright. Some time while Troy had been away, someone had arranged the alpha’s mattresses into more the semblance of a bed then the piles of cushions and sheets it had been. Tyreen wasn’t one to touch his stuff, so maybe it had been Rhys’ mechanical companion. They were, after all, exactly the meddling type. Regardless, Rhys was dragged to Troy’s bed, where he was laid out in a comfortable position by the alpha’s hands. It would have been gentle, if not for Troy’s inability to get the lanky young man where he wanted him to be without maneuvering each limb separately. To make matters more trying, Tyreen flopped down beside the omega, unwilling to leave her brother alone with him.

“What’s your damage?” Troy growled at her as he found a spot on Rhys’ other side to lay himself down, winding a possessive arm around the lethargic omega. “You have your own room. It’s time you headed back to it.”

“I’m here to lend you a guiding hand,” Tyreen replied, rolling on to her back and studying her nails, which were lifted above her head. “You’re not responsible enough to be left alone with him.”

“I thought you were my sister, not my goddam babysitter.” 

“Clearly you need _some_ form of guidance in your life.

Muttering something, Rhys buried his head against Troy’s shoulder, the alpha draping a sheet over both of them after a moment.

“Look, he’s clearly made his choice,” Troy pointed out. “You can leave us in peace now.”

“Yeah, a choice under the influence of chems. I can’t see how you can even believe he’d chose to trust you otherwise. Just look at him.” A small hand fell upon Rhys’ head, messing up his hair. “He’s so out of it he’s not even bitching at me.”

Suddenly, there was footsteps outside the bedroom door, the door itself creaking open a few moments later. A skag poked its head in, claws clicking on the wooden floorboards as it sauntered inside the room followed by its mechanical master. Fl4k set their gaze on the trio occupying the mattresses, their footsteps coming to rest a few feet away. 

“Though your bickering can be amusing, I also find it inducing of a headache, if one such as I can even call such a phenomenon thus,” they said, reaching to pet Mr. Chew. “Tyreen. That is your name, correct? Troy may have left Rhys, but he was well aware that I was still here to watch over him. As you may or may not know, Rhys is of my pack. It is also my responsibility to care for him.”

Having lifted himself off the mattress with an elbow, Troy was staring at Fl4k, unable to help the expression of surprise that was emblazoned across his face. His jaw worked, and finally he looked over to his sister, whose gaze was murderous. 

“Don’t defend the knothead!” she snapped, getting to her feet. “He knew you were helpless, or thought you were. He knew he was leaving an omega alone to fend for himself.” 

“But there was nothing to stop me from calling for assistance, should I have needed it. Besides, the chemicals he procured for Rhys are keeping his heat under control, and I cannot condemn that action.”

Teeth gritted, Tyreen was flushed, one hand forcefully swiping her hair out of her face. “Don’t let him fool you. He did it for his own gain.”

“And what gain is that, Ty?”

There was a look that Tyreen swung on her brother that was transferred to Fl4k. Primal and furious, heat seemed to radiate from her, sucking the warmth from the room so that all went cold aside from the air around her. Then, as if someone had let go of a rubber tube stretched too far, it seemed to disperse. Tyreen slouched, her hands, previously wadded into fists at her sides, releasing. She looked at Fl4k again, shaking her head.

“Fine,” she said in a deadpan, addressing her brother. “Fine. This is the way you want things. The way things always are with you. I can’t stop them.” A laugh erupted form her, curt and chilled. “I don’t know why I always try. It’s damn hopeless with you being an alpha.”

“Don’t even say I don’t listen to you,” Troy said, agitated. “I _always_ listen to you, Ty. I don’t give a good goddam if you’re an omega. Katagawa’s dead now. You thinking I did that for, what? Just myself?”

“Oh, you are _absolutely_ right, Troy. How could I not have seen the truth?” Taking a few steps, Tyreen was standing in front of the doorway. She clapped her hands together once, the sound startling Rhys out of his torpor. “I’ll just be going back to my room now to practice my acceptance speech when I take up the position as queenpin.”

Troy’s brow furrowed and he frowned. “Your what for when what?”

“You heard me, bro. We both know the Raiders are going to defer to you when word gets around about Katagawa. But I’m not gonna let that happen. Not for a hot minute. The Commonwealth is gonna see just what an omega can do in a position of power.”

“Hey, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Nobody freakin’ _knows_ you’re an omega. We should still keep it under wraps.” 

“I don’t think so. We ain’t gonna play by your knotheaded rules anymore. Everyone’ll know I’m an omega, Troy. And they’ll know I was the one who killed their precious boss Katagawa. They’ll _fear_ me.” 

Before Troy could reply to her, talk her out of whatever mastermind plan she was cooking up, Tyreen grabbed the doorknob and slammed the door closed on her way out. The milk crate shelves rattled, Rhys burying himself against Troy at the noise, his muscles going tighter where they gripped back at the alpha. 

“Motherfucker,” Troy uttered under his breath, then dug his chin into the top of Rhys’ hair. For a long while, they laid embracing like that, unmoving except for the synchronized rising and falling of their chests. Eventually Rhys’ eyes fluttered closed again and he drifted off, leaving Troy awake and alone, engulfed in his own thoughts.

Then came the mechanical clearing of a false throat. Troy’s gaze shifted until it rested on Fl4k, who’d been silent themself all this time. They’d also taken up a seat in a corner of the room, Mr. Chew sprawled across their lap. The skag was quiet, head resting on its paws. The alpha cocked an eyebrow at the machine.

“Do not think of me as your ally,” Fl4k told him. “I am anything but such. It is just that I see your efforts towards my packmate being beneficial to him during this time of need, plus you took care of Mr. Chew. I was as much at fault from stopping Rhys from wandering off as you are of leaving him on his own.”

“Still don’t see why you defended me against my sister,” Troy remarked, sounding cautious. 

“I have no ill will towards her, and I hope she does not think I do. However, it is more beneficial to Rhys that you remain at his side at this moment. She is an omega, and can not provide for him adequately.”

“Oh, she could absolutely provide for him and then some. Trust me on that one, tin can. Do I want her to? That’s the real important question.”

“You two seem at odds with each other for being siblings.”

With one arm—his mechanical one—Troy shrugged. “We’re twins. But I’m an alpha, and she got stuck being an omega for some cruel joke on nature’s part. It’s the way things go down sometimes. What can you do, ya know? Now we’re stuck biting at each other’s backs over it. Or she just gets all on her high horse about alphas and it’s all down hill from there. I’m used to the shit by now. It don’t really bother me no more.”

“I see. You have become impervious due to the reinforcement of your infrastructure. Mentally speaking.”

“Something like that.” 

“You are an interesting alpha indeed. Not like others I have met. Perhaps you could become an honorary member of our pack after all, if Rhys allows it.”

Troy yawned, then, his eyelids drooping. His body curled around Rhys like a protective blanket, their body heat melding beneath the sheets, creating deep warmth. 

“Really?” The alpha snorted, albeit with good nature. His eyes shut entirely, and he took a few deep, lethargic breaths before speaking again. “I’m just that fuckin’ lucky, then, aren’t I?”

XXX

When he awoke, Troy noted that Rhys was still dead asleep, unmovable. He shimmied out of his grip with precarious movements, emerging from the warmth of the bed only to drag himself to the bathroom and run the shower. No chems for him today save for a RADS chewable. He just wanted to strip the excess blood from his skin and watch the drain swirl pink with it as he cleaned himself off. There was blood and gunk in his carapace and his arm, and this time he took the painstaking time to remove both and not only clean them, but moisturize the scarred flesh beneath where his arm no longer resided. They had said he’d never survive the wastelands with only one limb, that his mortality rate was low due to all the complications of his birth. But he’d come this far, beat the odds and the radiation sickness, and learned to tinker like a god of metal and wiring.

He stopped in the kitchen to grab some food before returning to his room. He even brought a helping for Fl4k’s pet skag, which he set down near Fl4k themself, watching for a moment as the animal feasted. Fl4k didn’t say anything, but something about their posture as they stood peering at the trinkets in his room told Troy they were grateful.

The alpha was standing at his boarded up window, popping pieces of meat between his lips and chewing thoughtfully as he stared out between the slats of the boards when Rhys stirred. The omega rolled over on to the spot Troy had previously been occupying, stretching out along it like a contented cat. A whine broke the air when Rhys realized Troy wasn’t in bed, as if he’d simultaneously been blinded and lost his sense of smell. He seemed not to see or sense him at first. Then he was unfolding, throwing back the sheet to unveil his tall, naked form before re-wrapping himself in it and shuffling over to where the alpha was standing. Hands went around Troy’s waist, groping, feeling. They found the plate of food that was sitting on Troy’s windowsill and made a grab for some meat, but Troy reached out and plucked them away before Rhys could get a single bite.

“You _really_ don’t want to eat that,” Troy told him, a laugh infiltrating his words. He popped another piece in his own mouth, swallowed. “Unless you enjoy the idea of sudden instant cannibalism.”

Immediately Rhys recoiled. With a light step, he came around Troy, looking up at him with wide eyes. The first thing Troy noticed was that Rhys looked better than he had in days. Healthier. His skin wasn’t sallow. There weren’t any dark bags under his eyes. His lips were soft and pliant. And he didn’t move as if he were skittish, either.

“Nobody important,” Troy went on, smirking but still preoccupied with the healthy glow Rhys seemed to have. “Just my old boss. Ya know, that guy that would’ve kidnapped and done pretty heinous shit to you?”

“Why the fuck are you _eating_ him?” Rhys blurted out. There was a thin patina of hysteria coating his words, buried under incredulity and shock.

“Food’s food. That’s what I learned growing up. You take your opportunities to get a good source of protein in ya when you can.”

“That—that’s awful. I can’t even describe how awful that is.”

“Eh, I like to think of it as more poetic justice in this case.” 

Troy chewed and swallowed, Rhys scrunching up his nose and taking a step back. His reaction made Troy hesitate as he reached for another piece of the meat. Instead he pushed the plate aside, out of sight.

“If it bothers you that much….” The alpha trailed off, refraining from saying anything else, attention turning back towards the window.

A shaky, insecure laugh escaped Rhys. “Then again, what do I know? I grew up in a vault with everything provided for me. It’s not like I’ve lived a long time in the Commonwealth. For all I know, this is normal behavior among some wastelanders. Which I don’t agree with. Don’t get me wrong. But…I’m willing to try and understand.”

“Nothing to understand. Every now and then me and Ty get a hankering to slaughter an enemy. Someone whose been causing us or our Raiders problems, or has the potential to be one. Can’t let the tooth get too infected. Otherwise you’re be dealing with more than a toothache. And why let the meat go to waste when you deal with it, ya know?”

“No, I—I don’t know. That seems barbaric. Even coming from an alpha.”

“Hey, I make no claims to being civilized. Besides, our ancestors did it. That’s what dad used to tell us. Lot worse back then, though. They fought to the death, and the winner ate the spoils. Sometimes they’d slaughter the omegas too, especially if—”

“Alright, okay. That’s enough. It’s all I think I can take hearing.”

Drumming his fingers on the windowsill, Troy frowned. “Got a bit of a weak stomach, don’tcha? Gonna need more constitution. That is, if you plan to run with us.” 

“Run with you?” Drawing the sheet around him tighter, Rhys huddled into himself as if a chill had just danced down his spine. “I’ve got Fl4k and Mr. Chew. Once this heat passes, I doubt I’ll be staying.”

Troy turned to him, then. “But who says you’re the one who entirely gets to decide that?”

For a long moment, Rhys just stood there, shivering beneath his covering. Then he was shaking his head, his lips parting to form a wobbly smile.

“I get it. I do. You want to bond with me.”

“Bingo,” Troy said, and shot him a finger gun. “Though, being totally honest, that wasn’t my initial want. I just wanted to take your heat, dude. But killing Katagawa—it changed things in me, man.”

Rhys gave another laugh, this one considerably drier, more sarcastic in nature. “I don’t think you’d want that, really. A bond with me, I mean.”

“And why not? I’m a young, strong alpha. You’re a young, healthy-for-the-most-part omega. I can provide for you and protect you. I have an army of capable wastelanders at my beck and call. We could rule the Commonwealth. Fuck, we could even have a family.” He paused. “Not that, er, I want that or anything myself alone. Hadn’t even thought of it, really. But maybe. Some day. With the right omega.”

“An omega that won’t be me,” Rhys found himself blurting out, voice high and thin as anxiety bubbled to his service. He swallowed audibly. “I can’t bear children. I haven’t been able to for years. I’m infertile.”

“What? When did you find that out? Are you sure?”

“In Sanctuary Hills. I lived there with some settlers for a time. My PiP Boy, one day it just malfunctioned. Or I thought it did. Turned out it was just detecting changes in my reproductive system.”

“But _how_? You lived most of your life in a vault away from topside. You obviously weren’t born that way.”

In so many words, Rhys told him.

“Turns out us vault omegas are more susceptible to radiation than wasteland omegas,” he concluded with. “Who would have thought?” 

“You gotta be shittin’ me. That’s fucking awful, Rhys.”

The omega could only nod. 

“But, still, not like I give a shit,” Troy added. “You don’t need to be able to pop out kids for me to want to share a bond with you. That isn’t even why I wanted to to begin with.”

“You’re saying you don’t care?”

“No way. I couldn’t give less of a shit. Most alphas would kill to pass along their genes. But not me. I was…pretty sick as a kid. Didn’t have great genes myself. Why would I want to deal with passing that down?” A sigh from Troy, who moved into Rhys’ space, crowding him. He glanced at Fl4k in the corner, nothing the machine was either in a restorative state again or was pretending not to pay attention. It didn’t matter to him. “Anyway, how are you doing with your heat? You’re the most aware I’ve seen you in days.”

“What time is it anyway?” Rhys asked, rubbing at his temple. “Or day, even.” 

“Oh, uhm, I usually sleep a good thirteen hours when I need it. Maybe more. It’s gotta be at least three or four days we’ve been together. My best guess is just after noon on the fourth day right now.”

“Which means this heat must be almost over. I feel calm. Still a little low key wanting to drag you to bed and have you, well, knot me. But it isn’t such a drive as it was before. Plus, I can think a bit straighter.”

“Good. I guess. Of course, we could always do something about that horniness. What do you say, eh?”

There was hesitation in Rhys’ movements, reluctance causing his muscles to stiffen. He wouldn’t look at Troy, his gaze cast to the floor and refusing to come unglued. Troy decided to make a bold move, reaching out and cupping the omega’s chin with his roughened fingers, tilting his face upward. The other man didn’t flinch nor pull away, allowing his body to be manipulated.

“You know you want to,” Troy said, dropping his voice to a husky baritone. “I ain’t gonna force you into anything you don’t want, though. You’re perfectly rational at this point.”

There was a glare from Rhys, the skin around his eyes crinkling. Then he seemed to relax, body slumping.

“Why the hell can’t I be mad at you for that comment?” he asked more to himself than to the alpha. 

“Dunno. Might have something to do with you still needing me around for the tail end of your heat. Omega instincts or something.” Letting Rhys go, Troy shook his head. “I haven’t been around enough omegas to know. ‘Cept my sis. And I’d rather _not_ ask her those kinds of questions.”

The omega hummed. He eyed the mattresses sprawled on the floor, then his alpha companion. He was turning away and heading towards the bed before either of them could speak again, glancing over his shoulder. 

“Well, are you coming or not?” he asked, clearing his throat.

It took Troy a moment or two to react. A smirk came to play across his features, stretching his lips thin.

“Oh, I’m coming alright.”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Rhys said as he unwound himself from the sheet, letting it fall away. 

Naked and shivering, more from the cool air on his heated skin than actually being cold, Rhys stretched himself out like a cat, rolling on to his stomach. One eye remained trained on Troy as the alpha came closer, dropping to his knees beside him. He almost wrapped his arm around the omega and rolled him over so he could watch his face as he entered him, but that seemed to be pushing his luck a little too far. Instead he undid his pants, belt flopping away and zipper yanked down. Seeming to sync with his growing impatience, his erection sprung free, stiff and pulsing. 

Slick to the touch, Rhys was ready for him, no preparation required. The alpha guided himself inside the omega, pressing him down against the mattress. A rumbling growl erupted from him, dominant, coming from some primal, involuntary core. In reply, Rhys gasped and moaned. His body tensed as Troy drove himself in to him again and again, finally reaching his knot, the collision of flesh echoing in the room.

Instead of slowing down, trying to draw out their coupling, Troy allowed himself to give in to his alpha instincts. There was a flash of bared teeth, the alpha going for the nape of Rhys’ neck. His teeth were suddenly there, above that spot, sinking into flesh; deeper and deeper until the alkaline scent of blood pierced the room and Rhys cried out, caught in a state between ecstasy and pain. The copper flavor of his blood coated Troy’s tongue, permeated the soft tissues of his mouth. Still, he didn’t let go. Not until his knot was slipping inside the omega, nudging deeper and deeper until it was lodged within him sooner than later. 

Only then did Troy let go, teeth stained crimson, Rhys shuddering beneath him. The omega seemed to be in shock, or was about to reach his peak. It could be either or both. There was a great, gulping breath of air from him. Then he was cumming beneath Troy, crying out as his voice hit its crescendo and spiraled downward.

Swallowing the blood in his mouth, Troy wasn’t far behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So all that's left after this is the epilogue and then it'll be a done deal. It was a story that grew beyond what I originally had planned for it as a Kinktober prompt, and I think I may have lost my way a bit towards the end, but I'm hoping the epilogue wraps up all those loose ends I left behind. I'm gonna try my best. If I don't succeed, then RIP me as a writer.


	9. Epilogue

The field was mostly overgrown grasses and dead trees, the former coming up to Rhys’ shins, rustling with his steps. On one side, Fl4k kept pace with him, Mr. Chew trotting not far behind. On his other, Troy kept a vigilant stance, scanning their perimeter as they made their way up the path that crested the hill. At the top of that hill, a tower of rock stood, carved as if some malevolent god had reached down and taken a scoop right out of its hide. Nettled in the alcove that had been made was a vault entrance, enormous, looming, impenetrable.

Maybe not so much if you had a machine and a tech junkie on your side, though. Making sure all was clear, Troy waltzed up to the vault door, splaying his fingers over its surface, which were dwarfed by its sheer size. 

“This shouldn’t be a problem,” he said, removing several devices from his belt. 

“Better not be,” Tyreen commented, coming up the hill flanked by Raiders. She dressed differently these days then she had back near Goodneighbor, sometimes in old military garb complete with a sweeping coat she wore like a cape.

Troy sneered at her. “I know what I’m doing,” he insisted, taking out another tool and placing it at different intervals around the vault door. It took some time, but he secured several different explosive packs in several different places. “Everybody best stand back. These little babies are super powerful compared to my old models.”

Those present did as told. 

All except one. 

“What are you doing?”

This came from Rhys, who stepped up beside Troy. He regarded the vault door for some time, contemplating its very existence, perhaps. Then he pulled a long, thick cable from his Pip Boy and plugged it into the intercom panel that sat beside the vault door. Nobody else had noticed it. 

“Hello, Hugo,” Rhys said without being prompted. “It’s Rhys. Henderson. I’m back. You remember me, right? Saul’s son?”

There was a long bout of silence. Behind him, Fl4k shifted their weight from foot to foot, while Troy just looked equally impatient. The two combined set Rhys on edge, made him shiver with nervous energy. 

“I remember who you are,” a voice eventually said, smooth and suave yet dripping with something sinister. “No need to remind me. You can come in…Rhys.” 

The grind of the vault door opening ballooned the tension, seemed to elevate it to even more intense levels. There was a rush of air as Rhys released the breath that he’d been holding. Collectively, those present stepped back, peering into the gap that yawned before them. Lowlit, the space beyond the vault door seemed bereft of any living entity. Then the shadows were moving, coalescing, shifting down a metal walkway to approach the door. As the figure moved into the light, Rhys saw that it was Hugo, that there was an enormous shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

That grin faltered when he realized that Rhys was not the sole person standing outside the vault. His steps slowed, metal ringing as he descended the platform and joined the small gathering.

“So nice to see you back here, Rhys,” he said, his gaze flickering to each party present, watching their movements like a hawk. “I didn’t think you’d have the gall to ever try and come calling again. Color me surprised. Of course, figures you wouldn’t do so on your own.”

Involuntarily, Rhys’ fists clenched at his sides, brow dipping with a swell of utter loathing. His mouth was a thin, tight line of which nothing came out of.

There was a distinct sniffle. Hugo was scenting the air, stepping closer to Rhys. His movements were getting stiffer with each step, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“So,” he started up again, “You’re a kept omega now, eh? Would’ve figured you would be knocked up by this point, if that’s the case. Funny that you’re not.”

Rhys’ fists tightened even further, the knuckles going stark white, his teeth gritted. “Shut up, Vasquez,” he all but spat.

“Did I strike a nerve? So sorry. Wonder which one’s yours.” And here his gaze went from first Troy then to Tyreen. “I can smell they’re both alphas. Or maybe you’re just so greedy you had to have two?”

“That’s interesting, coming from a man who planned a coup all so he could have an omega harem,” Rhys said. “Troy….”

At first it seemed like an answer to Hugo’s question. But then Troy, who’d been keeping silent for the entire exchange as he tried to hold back from ripping out the older alpha’s throat, stepped forward. He let out a curt laugh, robotic arm whipping through the air until his fingers were grasping Hugo by the scalp. The other alpha’s eyes went wide as Troy yanked him closer then forced him down to his knees.

“Ya know, when Rhys told me what a piece of shit you were, I wasn’t sure just how much he meant it.” As he talked, he walked around behind Vasquez, never relinquishing his grip. “Now that I’ve met you, I’m getting a much clearer picture.”

“I’m the piece of shit? That—that’s the best thing I’ve heard in awhile.” Keeping himself composed, Hugo chuckled in amusement. “You’re obviously dirty wastelander alpha trash, and you’re calling _me_ shit. You desire nothing else than to be in my shoes. Admit it.”

From beside Rhys, Fl4k was extracting their jawblade from beneath their coat. “It is up to you, Rhys,” they said, the tone of their words treading on predatory. “How would you like us to handle this?”

“I should have bonded you when I had the chance,” Hugo spat out, shaking with rage. He tried to wrench himself free but Troy only held on tighter.

Coming forward himself, Rhys stared down at Hugo, the look in his eyes smoldering. “You killed my father. You flushed me out of my home. You’ve destroyed my life.” It was clear Rhys was holding back tears, the lump in his throat going down hard when he tried to swallow. “And hearing that come from your mouth now, that you would’ve bonded me all those years ago, you disgust me even more. I was just a kid back then. I have no good reason to show you any mercy, Vasquez.”

“Wow, you weren’t kidding about this guy,” Tyreen piped up, her footsteps carrying to stand in front of Hugo. “He fucking sucks ass.”

At Rhys’ nod towards him, Troy didn’t even hesitate. With Hugo’s scalp still in his grip, he wrenched his robotic hand. Hard. Hugo lurched and kicked, his neck twisting at an impossible angle. There were several groaning gasps that escaped him before a snapping sound echoed a delayed moment later. The older alpha’s body slumped in Troy’s grip, the life snuffed out of it in a heartbeat.

“That death was too fucking good for him,” Troy remarked. “Too easy. I say we roast him over a nice open fire and serve him up for dinner.”

“I thought we had a long discussion about your eating habits,” Rhys remarked, body shivering, though it was not from Troy’s words. 

“Yeah, but this guy was a real asshole. And all the shit he did to you? It would be poetic justice or something dumb like that.”

“No,” Rhys said with a note of finality and stepped over the vault door threshold. “We have work to do, anyway. If you want this to be our new home, we have to assess the damage Vasquez did.”

“Oh, man. Alright then.” 

The alpha let the body fall to the ground, Tyreen shuffling over to give it a few swift kicks. Troy and his sister then turned to the Raiders, who’d been lying in wait for orders to proceed.

“You heard the man,” Tyreen said before Troy could open his mouth. “We want this place, you gotta earn it for us. You don’t like that, you have the choice to walk. But, honestly, we’ll probably kill you for deserting and all that fun stuff. So, really, up to you guys.”

There was murmuring among the Raiders, but nobody backed off or walked away from the crowd. Tyreen clapped her hands in delight.

“Good, good. You’re all on the same page with us. We should probably go and check out our new digs, then.” Turning away, Tyreen thrust one booted foot past the threshold, stepping into the vault with a loud whistle. “I think I’m really going to enjoy myself running this place.”

“You mean we three are going to enjoy _ourselves_ running this place,” Troy called to her.

“Right. That’s what I meant.”

With that, Tyreen walked up the platform, disappearing into the vault. She was followed by the Raiders, leaving Troy, Rhys, and Fl4k standing outside. Mr. Chew gave a low pitched whine and lowered himself to his stomach, resting his head on his forepaws. Fl4k bent to give him a few pats.

“So, Rhys,” Troy said, sidling up to the omega to put his arm around his neck. With his robotic hand, he made a grand gesture towards the vault. “You really wanna stick around this old place with my sis, or you want our little pack to maybe go off on our own? Up to you.”

Rhys hummed in thought. “You don’t want to stay here?”

“I meant for a little while, not forever.” Troy snorted. “Course I wouldn’t leave Tyreen here by herself. She’s a pain in my ass, but she’s still an omega, and I’m still her twin brother.”

A turn, and Rhys was surveying the vegetation surrounding them, holding his palm to his forehead to block out the sun. He cast his gaze wide over the wastelands, staring off at the destruction and decay that had seized the world in its corrupting talons.

“Nah,” Rhys said, and put his arm around Troy, nearly squashing himself against the alpha’s side. “I think I’ve had enough of the wastelands to last a lifetime. Let’s just settle in.”

“What the omega wants, the omega gets. You coming, tin can?”

There was the crunch of gravel as Troy began to walk off with Rhys, heading for the open vault door. The alpha looked over his shoulder, eyeballing Fl4k.

“I wish to go on a hunt for awhile,” Fl4k said, straightening up. Mr. Chew lifted his head, looking up at them. “You do not need to wait for me.”

“Suit yourself,” Troy said, but Rhys turned, frowning slightly. He opened his mouth to speak. Before anything could come out, Fl4k nodded.

“You go ahead with the alpha, Rhys. I will not be returning. I have decided to make the journey back to Sanctuary after I have hunted this land.”

“What,” Rhys replied. The sound that came from his throat was almost a squawk. “What do you mean you’re not coming back? I…I thought you were my packmate.”

“I am, and will always be your packmate. You are no longer in need of mine and Mr. Chew’s protection, however. Furthermore, I must inform Norma that you are alright. It has been quite some time since I’ve had communications with her or Sanctuary. She’ll want to hear that you’ve found an alpha and are secure despite your circumstances.”

“But you’ll come back after that, right? To at least visit? I can’t imagine never seeing you again.”

“You do not need me to do such, Rhys. You have a new pack now, and they’ll take care of you.”

“But I’ll miss you. You can’t just abandon me like that.”

“I am not abandoning you.” There was a long pause from the machine, as if they were spooling their thoughts. “Very well. I will come back again some time soon just for a visit. You have my word. For now, I must go.” 

“Alright. I guess…I guess that’ll have to do.”

For a moment Fl4k’s eye narrowed, falling on the man Rhys was clinging to. “Troy…do your best to make sure no harm comes to Rhys. I am trusting you. As an honorary member of my pack.”

Troy tried not to show it, but his grin became a bit wider. 

And with that, Fl4k turned away, calling Mr. Chew to their side as they began to walk off. 

“You ready for this?” Troy asked Rhys after they had been standing their watching Fl4k’s retreating back awhile. He and the omega finally turned away from the sight and stepped through the vault door, climbing the steps to the platform. 

“Not really,” Rhys answered, trying not to sound disheartened by the events that had just transpired. “But, hey, no time like the present, right? I’ve got to face this all at some point.”

“You don’t _really_ have to. You can shuffle through life without ever facing anything you don’t wanna face. Just look at me. I got by fine doing just that. But believe what you want.”

Rhys didn’t smile, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, as if he were keeping his true emotions at bay. He looked up at Troy, patting his side. Then he shook his head and parted ways from him, eager to venture deeper into the vault.

“I think I’ll do just that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story started as a Kinktober prompt and went a lot longer than I really anticipated. I didn't expect the ending to come along a whole eight months later, but here we are. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed the journey! Dunno if I'll write anything else in this universe at the time, but you never know.


End file.
